Never Turn Your Back on the Sea
by Alleyprowler
Summary: In AC 206, humankind have settled into an era without war. However, the petty human motivations of greed and revenge are still very much active on a smaller scale, as Quatre soon finds out. 2 September 2006: Chapter 17 added. Complete.
1. Transaction

**General Disclaimer - The Mobile Suit: Gundam Wing characters used within this story are © Bandai, Sotsu Agency, Sunrise, etc. This work of fiction is intended for free entertainment purposes only. It is not suitable for readers under the age of 16.**

**Title:** Never Turn Your Back on the Sea (1?)  
**Section Title:** Transaction  
**Author:** Alleyprowler  
**Rating/Warnings:** M for language, violence, and adult subject matter.  
**Pairings:** 3x4x3, 1xR and 2xH.  
**Summary:** It's AC 206, and humankind have settled into a an era without war. However, the petty human motivations of greed and revenge are still very much active on a smaller scale, as Quatre soon finds out.  
**Note: **Requested, inspired, cheerled and beta read by sevenall, who is shy but brilliant. I just want to cover her in honey and lick it...oh, wait, this isn't a yuri fic. Never mind.

* * *

Of the five basic senses, the one that is most closely linked to memory is smell. Everyone has their own personal inventory of smells and their associated memories, be they of people, events, locations, times of day, or emotions.

For Quatre, the smell of reheated pesto sauce was forever imprinted into his psyche with the person of Trowa, the event of breakfast, the location of their tall, narrow townhouse in District 7 of colony L41X95, the time of _way_ too early in the morning, and the emotion of mild revulsion.

At first Quatre thought that his lover was eating pistachio ice cream, but upon rubbing some of the sleep out of his eyes, he realized that Trowa was, indeed, sitting at the kitchen table wearing his brown plaid pajamas with a leather jacket over the top, munching away contentedly at a plate of pesto-covered pasta while reading a textbook.

"How can you eat that for breakfast?" he muttered as he shuffled for the coffee pot at the other end of the kitchen.

"Eat what?" Trowa replied absently. He wasn't concentrating so much on his food as on the textbook he had propped up against the sugar bowl. Quatre glanced over his partner's shoulder to see which one it was, and pulled away with a grimace when he saw the full-color plates that illustrated the text.

"Ugh. Are those worms?"

Trowa swallowed the mouthful of pasta he'd been chewing on and nodded his uncombed head. "_Ascerius suum_ and _Syphacia obvelata_, to be precise." He looked up at Quatre's horrified face and flashed him a small, mischievous grin. "That's pig roundworm and mouse threadworm to you. Want some vermicelli?" He held out his plate.

Quatre winced and turned away from the ex-Gundam pilot turned veterinary medicine student and went to the refrigerator to find something less, well, _wormy_ to eat.

He supposed that he was partially to blame for their unappetizing discussions. He was the one who had talked Trowa into accepting the Peacecraft Scholarship in the first place, which was why his partner had his nose buried in _Veterinary Parasitology_ and was eating reheated leftovers at 0530 on a Sunday morning rather than sleeping in like a normal person.

Trowa's lack of formal education as a youngster had been a major hurdle in the beginning, but Trowa was bright, determined, and above all, too stubborn to quit. His instructors, many of them jaded by generations of apathetic and sullen students, thought he was a gift from the heavens.

Quatre himself had decided to accept the scholarship as well. It wasn't that he needed the funds, but he thought doing so would be seen as a gesture of goodwill between the Winners and the Peacecrafts. He also hoped that if other young veterans saw him as another scholarship student they might be encouraged to accept it as well. It was, after all, open to anyone, soldier or civilian, who had taken part in the wars. Quatre knew the importance of education in breaking the cycle of poverty, oppression and revolution and felt that, in a roundabout way, he was doing something to promote a lasting form of peace.

He had recently completed his advanced degree in Electrical Engineering and was working toward his doctorate...and by working, he really meant _working_. Though he was nominally the head of the Winner Enterprises Reconstruction Division, he worked as a regular employee. He ran residential wiring for thirty hours a week at a modest rate of pay and spent at least another thirty hours at his _real_ work, which was development of cheap, efficient, mass-producible conductors.

The kitchen vidphone bleeped obnoxiously while Quatre was still on his hunt for an edible breakfast. He rose from his crouch in front of the refrigerator, banging his head sharply on the second shelf, and growled out a curse.

"Who the hell would be calling at this hour?" he asked aloud, rubbing his sore scalp.

The phone was sitting on the serving bar that separated the small breakfast nook from the kitchen proper, which meant that Trowa had a better view of the screen than he did. Trowa had apparently seen the identification code at the bottom of the screen, since he called out, "Do we know a D. Maxwell, Quat?" in a highly amused tone of voice.

"At this hour of the morning, I'm not entirely sure," Quatre grumbled. He checked his fingers for signs of blood and found none. At least something was going right that morning.

"I'll get it," Trowa said with a faint snicker. Quatre heard the electronic _boop-WIP!_ as the connection was accepted.

"Morning, guys!" Duo's voice sounded entirely too chipper for that time of day...at least, until you took into account that the L2 colony cluster ran on a clock that was about four hours ahead of L4's. "Hey, what's with the pajamas?"

Trowa snorted. "Sorry, Duo, but personal grooming isn't exactly high on my list of priorities at," he paused and made an elaborate production of checking his watch, "5:45 in the morning."

There was a long, embarrassed pause after that. Still hovering near the refrigerator, Quatre stifled a laugh behind his hand.

"Er...whoops?" Duo offered at last.

"Don't worry about it, Duo," Quatre said, stepping into the monitor's range of view. He was annoyed to see that the video feed was full of static and that the images that did come through were out of synch with the audio. It was very disorienting. "Duo, is something wrong with your vidphone?"

The image of Duo on the screen dissolved into a haze of electronic snow for a few moments, then cleared up. Duo was wearing a pair of yellow-tinted safety goggles that hid most of the upper half of his face, and the brim of his favorite black cap was pulled down low over his forehead. Like the Cheshire cat, the only part of his face that was clearly visible was his toothy grin. "No, I don't think so. Must be a bad relay satellite or something."

That was entirely possible, Quatre supposed. The economy of L2 had grown a little _too_ well since the end of the wars, and there were more jobs than there were workers. Skilled labor was in especially short supply these days, so it was possible that a faulty communications relay satellite might go unrepaired for quite a while. Still, it was annoying. "That's too bad. I can barely see you." Quatre grinned at his friend, even though it was likely that Duo couldn't see him very well either. "So how are you?"

"Busy, busy, busy! There's a hell of a lot of junk still out there that needs to get cleaned up...which brings me to the point of my call." On the screen, the image made an alarming jolt before Duo appeared again, this time with a clipboard in one gloved hand. "You said you had a job the North Pacific coast this week, correct?"

"Yes, we're restoring a government building in Vancouver. It took some damage in an earthquake a few years ago, but it can be salvaged."

"Yeah, that's what I thought you said. Do you think you'd have time to make a little side trip to the San Juan Islands while you're there?"

Puzzled by the request, Quatre frowned at the vidphone screen and pressed the two buttons at its base that would record both the incoming and outgoing transmissions. This promised to be an interesting conversation and he didn't want to lose any of it to the vagaries of unrepaired relay stations. "You want me to go to the San Juan Islands?" he repeated. "What's there?"

He felt a warm presence at his back as Trowa came up behind him, smelling of coffee and leather. "Nothing but nature preserves and tourist traps, as far as I know," he said. He put a warm hand on the small of Quatre's back and began to massage him with intent to go south. Quatre grinned and leaned into the kneading hand.

"Nature preserves, tourist traps, and the Bell Point Historical Society." Although it didn't show up on the staticky display, they could both hear the shrug in Duo's voice. "I dunno about the first two, but the last one just declared bankruptcy and is trying to sell off some junk to get out of debt."

Trowa's fingers had found their way past the elastic waistband of Quatre's pajama pants, which made it slightly difficult for Quatre to concentrate on the financial problems of the Bell Point Historical Society. "Wh-what sort of junk?" he stammered.

Duo lifted the clipboard and turned a page or two before answering. "Uh...looks like some books, lots of old prints, antique furniture, twenty ingots of refined neo-titanium..."

"Oh, I see," Quatre said in a politely distracted manner. Damn Trowa and his odd sense of humor! It seemed like he couldn't allow Quatre to conduct any business in his presence without attempting to get him embarrassingly hot and bothered in the process. "It sounds like they could sell it to a museum, which would solve..." he stopped himself cold. "Excuse me, did you say twenty ingots of refined neo-titanium?"

"Gotcha!" Duo crowed triumphantly. "I was wondering how long it would take you to actually pay attention!"

Quatre smacked Trowa's roving hands away until the taller man let out an annoyed snort and retreated back to the coffee pot. "Duo, it's inhumane to tease me before I've had my caffeine," he moaned.

"Sorry, man, I just couldn't resist," Duo said with a chuckle. "Besides, I wasn't kidding...at least, not about the neo-titanium."

A hopeful smile tugged at Quatre's lips. "Really? You're not just stringing me along, are you?"

"Really!" Duo insisted. "These people got some as a war victim donation and figured that they could sell it at a massive profit, but you know how public auctions can go..."

"Badly," Trowa interjected, setting a steaming cup of coffee on the counter in front of his lover. He received a melting look of gratitude and a quick kiss as a reward.

The display froze again as Duo made a gagging noise. "Ew! Can you guys lay off the mushy stuff till I get off the phone?"

Quatre snickered into his coffee cup. "Oh, and this is coming from the guy who usually wants full video and audio feed from our bedroom, complete with transcripts." He bumped Trowa's hip playfully.

"Yeah, well, I've matured lately." The video display fuzzed out into electronic snow for a few seconds. When it cleared, Duo was looking at his clipboard again. "So, do you want that neo-titanium or not?"

"Yes! You know how much I need that stuff! Er, it _is_ registered, isn't it?" Quatre certainly hoped so. Neo-titanium was notoriously hard to come by, not because it was particularly rare, but because it was heavily regulated by the EarthSphere government as a potentially dangerous substance. It was the primary component of Gundanium alloy, after all. Civilian applications of the metal were just beginning to gain popularity, but there was still a daunting amount of paperwork involved if you wanted to work with the stuff legitimately.

"Yup, it's all pedigreed and accounted for." Duo flipped over another page on his clipboard. "You can trace ownership of this block all the way back to the foundry."

That was wonderful news. "Great! How much are they asking for it? Do you know?"

"Twenty thousand was the initial asking price, but I talked 'em down to fifteen." On the screen, Duo's image was frozen in the act of flipping a page on his clipboard, but his voice radiated smug self-satisfaction.

Quatre's jaw dropped. Fifteen thousand credits for that much neo-titanium was an absolutely unheard-of price. He looked over at Trowa, who gave him a mildly bewildered look and shrugged back at him. "Duo...that's less than half the normal price. How did you do that?"

"What can I say? I'm good!" The vidphone display snowed out, scrambled, and reassembled itself, showing a fairly clear image Duo from mid-chest up. His eloquent grin was saying, 'You may praise me now.'

Quatre was happy to oblige. "Good? You're the best!" He reached out and tapped a sequence of buttons on the bottom of the vidphone that would authorize an inter-Colony payment chip. "Where do I send the money and what is the pickup location?"

Duo told him. He had already purchased the neo-titanium on Quatre's behalf, so all Quatre had to do was insert his bank card into the reader at the base of the vidphone and punch in his personal ID code in order to take legal acquisition of the merchandise. The instructions for pickup were a bit trickier to transfer since the rotten visuals made maps useless. Duo, after several attempts to link, sketch, and verbally describe how to get to the pickup site, finally resorted to a set of GPS coordinates.

"Did you get all that?" Duo asked once he'd supplied the relevant information.

"Got it!" Quatre restrained himself from doing a little victory dance. "Thanks, Duo, this has been incredibly helpful."

"Anything for a friend. Listen, I need to get back to work. You take care now, bye." The connection cut off with another burst of static.

Trowa raised an eyebrow at his grinning partner. "What, no three hour gossip session? You two are slowing down in your old age."

Quatre stuck his nose in the air imperiously. "We're not slowing down, we've just become more mature." He then proceeded to spoil the effect by grinning mischievously and sticking his tongue out. "Race you to the shower!"

* * *

According to Quatre's personal clock, it had been one full day since he'd given Trowa one last hurried kiss goodbye before rushing out the door with his favorite travel bag slung over one shoulder. It had been early morning then. The colony lights hadn't yet reached their full daytime intensity and still held the pinkish tint that was supposed to mimic the dawn's sunlight.

Since a full twenty-four hours had passed, the part of Quatre that wasn't quite awake yet was disoriented by the light here in this part of the Earth. It was late afternoon rather than early morning, bitterly chilly rather than mild and breezy, drizzly and grey rather than clear and bright. He took another slug of coffee and twisted the knob on the jeep's dashboard that made the windshield wipers move a little faster.

The stretch of coastal highway he was driving on was nearly deserted at this time of year. Most people around here tended to reside in the cities where it was cheaper and more convenient to live, rather than out here in the middle of nowhere. Quatre thought that was a shame; this was a place of wild, desolate beauty even in the dead of winter.

He had been lucky to find accommodations near the pickup spot. Most of the hotels, motels and inns were closed for the off season, but there was a bed and breakfast run by a year-round resident that remained in operation, and he had secured lodgings there for the time being. The proprietor, a talkative man in his mid-60s who shared the house with no other company than his six cats, was only too glad to have another human being around.

"What brings you here, Mr. Winston?" the man had asked after Quatre had signed the guest registration and paid for his stay. "We don't get many visitors here in February."

Quatre had looked at the registry page at that point to make sure he hadn't accidentally used one of his wartime aliases when checking in, but even upside-down he could recognize his true signature. He attributed the man's slip to the rather smeary condition of his thick spectacles, which seemed to have a habit of creeping down his long, bony nose whenever he looked down.

"I'm here to pick up something from the Bell Point Historical Society," Quatre had explained while stroking one of the cats and shooing another one away from the contents of his bag.

The man had shoved his glasses up with a long forefinger—a futile gesture since they immediately began a slow slide down his nose. "There's a Bell Point just a half hour drive from here, but I never heard they had a historical society. You sure about that, Mr. Widmer?"

Quatre had felt an odd pang of unease when he heard that, but he quickly dismissed it as travel fatigue and a desire for lunch. "I'm pretty sure. A friend of mine sent me here on their behalf. Maybe they're new?"

Settling the wayward glasses up on the bridge of his nose once again, the man had shaken his head. "No, I've lived here for over twenty years now and I've been on the township council for fifteen of those. If it was a new outfit, I'd know about it."

"Well, maybe they're out of the council's jurisdiction," Quatre had suggested. The man with the smudged glasses didn't seem to be the type to lie, and his body language and tone of voice indicated that he was perfectly comfortable with his assertions. If he had lived in this sparsely-populated area and served on its council for as long as he had, wouldn't he know about all of the new businesses and such that might affect the area?

The man had merely shrugged at Quatre's question, however. "It's possible, Mr. Wilson. To tell the truth, those meetings are so boring that I generally fall asleep halfway through. I try to review my notes and keep up with the bulletins, but I'd guess that they could run a proposal to knock down my house and build a new bypass over it could get through with my vote if they made the meetings boring enough."

Quatre could certainly relate to that, and he'd told the man so. They had shared a laugh, and later, a lunch, and now Quatre was on the road in his rented jeep, sipping a cup of very strong black coffee and looking for the appropriate off ramp that would take him to Bell Point.

He had the GPS unit attached to a metal clip mounted on the dashboard, along with the written directions that the proprietor had given him, and according to both, he should be near...ah, this was it. Quatre flicked on his turn signal to let any nonexistent motorists behind him know that he was cutting across two lanes and steered into the curve of the off ramp while he decelerated. At the end of the ramp was a traffic light that blinked a blurred red through the wet windshield, but since there was no traffic coming from either direction, Quatre only made a courtesy pause before he turned the jeep to the left and drove at a sedate pace onto the spit of land that was marked Bell Point.

The two-lane road was narrow and flanked on both sides by wide, gravelly shoulders that ended in sheer drops to the cliffs below. This little bit of land stuck out from the coast like a hitchhiker's thumb rendered in granite, and it sheltered a small bay to the north where a marina full of sportsmen's yachts bobbed in the hard winter wind like brightly colored bits of driftwood. Quatre smiled. He remembered being taken out on his father's little racing yacht a few times as a child, and how fast the sleek craft had seemed to go as it sliced through the waves, pitching and yawing as the wind caught the bright spinnaker in unpredictable spring breezes, and how tightly his father had held onto him as he tacked sharply to steal the wind from a rival's sails...

Quatre clamped down hard on the bittersweet memories and drove on. It was all well and good to remember his father in a happy way, but he tended to get lost in those recollections and lose focus, and right now he was on a schedule. He pressed a little harder on the accelerator and narrowed his eyes as he drove on.

In only a few minutes, he had reached the end of Bell Point, which ended in a cul de sac in front of a handsome and new-looking lighthouse. Quatre parked on the gravelly shoulder close to the edge of the cliff and looked at the lighthouse with a critical eye. From what he could see in the dim, overcast light, it was a pretty good copy of a genuine pre-Colonial lighthouse. It was a tall, stately column that connected to a small residence at the bottom and soared upward to a windowed room that would contain the bright, circling warning light, its machinery, and not much else. The entire structure was painted white except for the peaked roof of the tower, which was tiled in dark green, and the matching pitched roof of the house.

In the summer, with a blue backdrop of hot sky and the sun shining on the fresh paint, it would look quaint and charming; a perfect photo opportunity for the tourists. In the dull light of winter, though, it looked out of place and slightly sinister.

Quatre turned off the ignition and tucked the keys into the pocket of his parka. In the ensuing silence, he shivered a little; the wind sounded a little like human voices as it whistled through the triangular wing window on the driver's side door, and the voices were all saying, "_Who_...?"

He forced a laugh out of his suddenly-tight throat. "I have been watching _far_ too many of Trowa's horror movies," he said out loud. "I'll be jumping at my own shadow next."

But in the afternoon gloom, there were no shadows to jump at. Quatre shoved the door open, working against the prevailing wind, and jumped out of the vehicle. His breath was temporarily stolen by the cold, damp wind, which wrapped around his exposed face like dense silk. He sucked in a breath with effort.

The air reeked with the peculiar combination of fecund seaweed, decaying fish, and seashell minerals that some people called 'fresh salt air'. Quatre had smelled it before and had never understood the romantic implications of odor of the seashore. It was better than the smell of raw sewage, he admitted (having been taken on an "educational" tour of the sewage-treatment plant of his home colony at a young age), but only by a very narrow margin.

The smell would have been bearable if it hadn't been accompanied by a stinging slap of cold rain and the mischievous wind that found every gap and seam in his clothing. Within seconds of exiting the warm interior of the jeep, Quatre felt chilled to the bone.

He jogged across the road to the little white house and yanked on the door handle, expecting it to be locked, and he nearly lost his balance when the door swung open easily. The code-breaker, crowbar and mechanical lock picks he had brought with him were all for nothing, then. Quatre wasn't complaining. Just because he had the means and the knowledge to open nearly any kind of lock didn't mean that he liked doing so, but since Duo had said the place would be deserted and hadn't mentioned anything about a key or a passcode, he'd come prepared.

There were no lights on inside and the gloomy afternoon did little to illuminate the interior of the little building, but Quatre stepped inside immediately, wanting to get away from the cold wind that nipped and pinched at every exposed bit of skin.

Quatre waited a minute to let his eyes adjust to the dim light. He smelled new concrete, along with the hot scent of freshly-welded steel, which led him to believe that the foundation and framing of the building were very new, perhaps erected within the last couple of days. That might explain his host's ignorance of its existence. But then again, did it make any sense that an organization on the verge of bankruptcy would start a new construction project? A shiver that had nothing to do with the chilly air shuddered up Quatre's spine.

As his eyes adjusted, Quatre saw the familiar debris of construction in progress scattered around the otherwise empty room: A broken drill bit, a handful of finishing nails, a couple sheets of drywall propped against a sawhorse, a roll of fluffy pink insulation material. Those were certainly things that one would expect to find in a not-quite-finished building, but while they _looked_ right, they _felt_ wrong. They were a little too randomly placed, perhaps. They looked like objects in a rather bizarre window display, or like props in a play.

"Or maybe I'm letting my imagination get to me," Quatre muttered under his breath. He laughed quietly to himself and shoved his damp bangs out of his eyes. Wet weather on the Earth had always spooked him a little. You couldn't control it, and you certainly couldn't predict it like you could on the Colonies. Colony rains fell at precisely designated times and in precisely designated measures in order to clean and freshen the air, but on Earth, the rain just...happened. It had no consideration for the health and well-being of the humans, animals, and plants that it fell on, or failed to fall on. Sometimes it didn't fall for months. Other times, like now, it threatened to go on forever. For a Colony brat, it seemed overwhelming.

Quatre shook himself out of his state and looked around the large room for the cargo Duo had promised him. He hoped that they were stored in the visitor's building and not behind the bolted door that led to the lighthouse. He didn't want to explore any more. He just wanted to get his neo-titanium, pack it into the jeep, and go to his work site in the morning.

Moving cautiously, he walked toward the darkest corner of the building and was very happy to see a pile of three metal boxes stacked onto a red hand truck. It had to be the neo-titanium! Even if it wasn't, he was more than eager to get the hell out of the building and apologize later, if necessary, for taking the wrong thing.

Neo-titanium, even refined and pressed into ingots, was not dense stuff. Three packing cases of it should have been easy enough to manage, especially taking the leverage granted by the hand truck into consideration, but Quatre found that he had to give the handle of the truck a sharp jerk backward to get the damn thing tipped back on its wheels so he could push it.

He winced at the slap of rain on his face as he exited the building. This was definitely not Colony rain, which was kept temperature-controlled so as not to damage fragile Colony flora. This rain had an icy bite to it that stung his exposed face and hands. He wished he'd worn his work gloves, but they were back in his room at the nice cozy Bed and Breakfast house, perhaps being played with by a curious cat or two. Quatre lowered his head and gave the hand truck a good shove to get it over the low curb that separated the small garden in front of the house from the road.

The packing cases were not secured to the base of the hand truck by anything except for gravity, as Quatre discovered when one of the wheels rolled over the slight dip of a manhole cover in the middle of the road. The whole hand truck tipped slightly to one side and the top crate began to slide off the middle one. Quatre quickly rolled the hand truck to even ground, but before he could get a good grip on the slippery aluminum surface of the crate, it fell onto the wet asphalt with a flat smack.

"Oh _crap_!" he shouted, loudly enough to startle a pair of gulls from where they were sitting on the roof of his jeep, which was parked just a few meters away. They launched themselves into the air and circled over his head, wailing their complaints at being disturbed loudly.

All Quatre really wanted to do at this point was to throw the damn cases into the back of the jeep and go back to the little café where he'd gotten his coffee earlier, which had a nice little reading nook in the back with a fireplace and a half a dozen mismatched but comfortable chairs that one could lounge around in while reading the moldering old books and drinking sinfully strong mochas with real whipped cream floating on the top.

But it wasn't going to happen. Not anytime soon, anyway.

Quatre knelt down to check his cargo. The ingots themselves would not be damaged by such a minor fall, but unalloyed neo-titanium, like its older cousin pure titanium, did not react well to nitrogen or oxygen, so he needed to be sure there were no breeches in the packing cases.

The thin aluminum skin of the case seemed to be undamaged at first glance. It had landed upside-down on the black asphalt, so Quatre flipped it over to check the top side. It was also undamaged, aside from a few scuff marks. The exterior looked fine.

A normal businessman would have chucked the case into the back of the jeep and assumed that all was well at that point. Quatre was not a normal businessman. He didn't consider himself to be a businessman at all, actually, but he'd had a businessman's breed of paranoia built into his psyche from a very early age and he had a good dose of natural curiosity as well, so he decided to open the case.

A normal civilian would have been puzzled by the contents. Quatre was not a normal civilian. When he unhooked the latches and lifted the hinged top, he heard a muted popping noise that put him instantly on alert.

The act of opening the case had also removed the cap of a chemical detonator, which was a fist-sized cylinder with a black housing and a red top. The top had been glued to the upper half of the aluminum packing case. Opening the case and popping the cap from the rest of the cylinder had activated the irreversible chemical process in the main housing of the detonator, which was embedded in the middle of a series of eight blocks of something that looked like modeling clay. Each block was wrapped in cellophane and consisted of smaller strips of the stuff about the width of a forefinger and the length of one's hand; this was standard packaging for plastic explosives.

As soon as the chemicals in the detonator had sufficient time to mix they would reach a critical heat, which would in turn cause the blocks of plastic explosives to combust violently. The angle of the packing crate's raised lid was meant to force the charge of the blast out to whoever had opened it, provided that the opener of the lid was confused and puzzled enough to stay in place for the three seconds it took for the reaction to have time to work.

Quatre was not confused and puzzled. He recognized a suitcase bomb when he saw one, and he ran like a jackrabbit for the nearest cover he could find. The jeep.

He'd have liked to run for the lighthouse, but the jeep was much closer, and he figured he could duck behind one of the sturdy vehicle's wheels and stay out of the most powerful force of the blast...

Or at least that was the plan until the bottom fell out of his world in a deafening roar.

TBC


	2. Sea

**Title:** Never Turn Your Back on the Sea (2?)  
**Section Title:** Sea  
**Author:** Alleyprowler  
**Rating/Warnings:** M for language, violence, and adult subject matter.  
**Pairings:** 3x4x3, 1xR and 2xH.

* * *

The afternoon sun did nothing to warm Quatre's chilled body as he labored his way out of his temporary tomb by the sea. Working with one arm, he pushed aside the rocks, soil, grass and sand that had all but buried him in his fall. He couldn't use his left arm. He had hyperextended his elbow when he'd put a hand out to try to halt his tumble down the cliffside and now it was too painful to move. That was one injury he was certain of. There might have been more, but he was too numb from shock and the chill to feel much of anything. He paused in his labor to catch his breath.

_False information_, his mind kept telling him. _Duo gave me false information_. He tried to stop thinking that, but his mind kept going to it in the same obsessive manner that your tongue keeps going to prod a loose tooth. The shipment, the message, it had all seemed so routine, so average...just another business transaction between a salvage yard owner and an electrical engineer in need of neo-titanium. It was something they had done hundreds of times over the past few years. What the hell had just happened?

_That's very interesting, Quatre_, he told himself, _but that's not the main issue right now_. For some reason, his inner voice sounded a bit like Rashid. He had to smile a bit at that. _Right now, you have to dig yourself out of this mess and get to higher ground. Look, the tide is coming in_.

Startled by this thought, Quatre scanned the rocky beach he was lying on. When he had first seen the beach from the top of the cliff, there had been at least forty meters of dry land between the foot of the cliff and the water, and now there were less than ten. He swore. _Did I get knocked unconscious? How long was I out? More importantly, how long do I have before it comes in to me?_

Panic flooded his muscles with adrenaline and gave him strength that he swore he couldn't possibly possess under the circumstances. This time he used not only his right arm, but both legs to try to free himself. His left leg didn't want to cooperate, but he forced it to kick anyway against the restraining hold of the debris that covered him. It seemed to take hours, although that was clearly an exaggeration brought on by his overstressed mind. Cold sweat streamed down his body. His breathing came in shallow, painful little gasps as injuries major and minor made themselves painfully known. None of that mattered, because the sea was coming to eat him alive and he had to get free before its icy grey grip enveloped him; he had to get to higher ground.

He wasn't aware of his thin, shaky, but triumphant laugh when he had finally worked himself loose, but the sound was enough to spook a couple of gulls who had been standing nearby, watching his progress with reptilian yellow eyes. They took off into the grey sky, screeching out their piercing cries, and began to wheel over his head. Still laughing, Quatre climbed slowly to his feet. He nearly fell again as his left knee buckled under his weight. Although it wasn't terribly painful, the joint felt weak and sickeningly loose. _Sprained_, he thought. _No big deal. Walk it off._ He carefully distributed his weight on the injured leg once more and let out a tremulous sigh of relief when it held him.

He gasped and his body jerked as he was suddenly soaked in icy water from mid-shin down. _The sea has come to eat me_, he thought, and the panic that had finally begun to subside surged through him afresh. He looked down and saw that the wave had soaked his heavy steel-toed boots and the bottoms of his industrial-grey work pants. The tide had either come in much faster than he had thought or he had spent more time than was prudent testing his knee out; whichever it was, he knew he had to find a way up the cliff _now_.

The light was dimming now. Quatre didn't know whether it was from the approach of evening or from the thickening cloud cover and frankly, he didn't care. He turned his back on the sea and scanned the cliff in front of him with sharp eyes, searching for a place where he might be able to scramble up.

To the right, south, the cliff face seemed to get steeper and higher, and he could see the tall, slender white column of the lighthouse standing at the end of the long, narrow spit of land. He shuddered at the sight. What had at first seemed so quaint and charming now looked sinister in the fading light. He turned his gaze to the north and saw the trail of raw, exposed earth that he had slid down in his fall after the explosion. He hadn't thought it was possible to feel any colder than he already did, but the visual evidence of exactly how close he had come to death chilled him to the marrow. If the slope had been any higher or steeper, or if he had been just a little less lucky, he would have been dashed to pieces. He shut his eyes tightly and reminded himself that he was indeed alive, and if he wished to remain that way, he was going to have to calm down and force his overloaded brain to work.

To the left, he at first saw only the dark cliff face, the roiling grey sky and the rising sea, but then he caught sight of something bobbing up and down slightly in the waves. It was long and thin and lay parallel to the water, and after squinting at it a bit, he realized it was a fishing pier. His heart lightened. If there was a fishing pier, then there had to be some kind of access to the road above, and hadn't he passed a sign saying something about a public fishing area when he drove in? He was quite sure he had.

Clutching his injured arm to his chest and dragging his bad leg a little, Quatre moved as fast as he could toward the pier. It was difficult to walk on the rolling, shifting rocks, especially since the soles of his boots were so thick and inflexible, and the incoming waves seemed to suck at his feet. _At least the exercise is warming me up_, he thought. It was true that some sensation was coming back to his numbed fingers and toes, but the increase in circulation was also making all of the bumps and bruises he had sustained in his fall to throb painfully. His heavy winter work clothes had protected him to some extent, for which he was grateful, but he still ached and throbbed all over.

The tide was up to his thighs before he got even halfway to the pier, and it was coming in fast. He tried to move faster. The treacherous footing wasn't so much an issue now that he had reached a sandier area of the beach, but the undertow was threatening to sweep his numbed and weakened legs out from under him. Each surge of the waves made him fight harder to remain upright, and he was already exhausted. _Calm, Quatre, stay calm_, he reminded himself. He took a few precious seconds to stop and try to catch his breath. _It's just walking. You've been doing it since you were a baby, so you ought to be pretty good at it by now, right?_

His feeble joke didn't take into account his present physical condition, however. He was injured, in shock, rapidly becoming hypothermic, and the sea seemed to be intent on devouring him. He knew all these things, of course, but his stubborn will would not let him dwell on them. Instead, he started moving forward again, concentrated on keeping his footing and searching the cliff face near the pier for signs of access to the road. He thought he could make out something unnaturally white against the dark granite, something painted. Although his eyesight was acute, the lighting was very bad and the weather was beginning to turn misty with the coming of evening. The white might have been a random streak of limestone in the cliff face, or perhaps even bird droppings from a gull's nest. It was best not to get his hopes up.

A particularly violent wave came in as he was trying to decide what the white streak was, soaking him from the ribs down and knocking him off balance. His right foot, which had been resting on a slippery kelp-covered rock, slid out from under him and he fell to his hands and knees with a shout. A bolt of pain from his injured left knee paralyzed him in that position, and before he could recover from it, another wave crashed over his head.

For a moment, the entire world was dirty grey water. It flooded into his ears and eyes, into his open mouth, into his nose. His senses were full of the cold stink of it. He tasted salt as old as the Earth itself on his tongue. It burned in his sinuses. Salt and decay. The ocean was a giant graveyard, and now it was trying to claim him. He couldn't see, couldn't breathe, and couldn't hear anything but the mindless roar of dead water, which was stealing the life heat from his body.

_This is how it ends_, said some timid, cowardly little voice in his mind. _Give up now, Quatre. You've fought too many battles in your life, and you were never really a warrior to begin with. You don't have it in you._

It was so tempting to listen to that voice! Quatre was so cold that he burned, his lungs were bursting, and his muscles had turned to lead. It would be easy to let himself go limp and ride the next surge out, to let his body be carried along by the undertow, to ride whatever strange currents there were until he was nothing but bones and a memory.

He might have done it; that's what frightened him so much later on. He almost gave up when the wave crested and broke, pulling him seaward and rolling him over onto his left side, but then his body moved of its own accord and pushed him upward out of the water, where he took in a great, whooping gasp of air and let it out in a series of short, barking coughs. The next wave didn't take him so much by surprise, and he was able to use its momentum to bring him close to rough surface of the granite cliff. He clung to it with nerveless fingers while he coughed and spat and sneezed the corrosive seawater out. Two grey and white gulls, perhaps the same pair he had seen earlier, dipped and glided in front of him as if mocking him with their gift of flight; their squealing cries sounded like scornful laughter.

When he was able to breathe more or less freely again, Quatre wiped the water from his eyes and scowled at them. "You can't get me that easily," he rasped out to the gulls, the water, or perhaps simply to himself to prove that he was still alive. Spitting the foul taste out of his mouth once again, he made his way carefully along the base of the cliff. The white streak was much closer now; apparently the waves that had knocked him down had also carried him upshore a bit. He could now see that the whiteness was much too regular and straight to be anything but man made, and there were some horizontal shapes running alongside the white streak.

It was a staircase.

"Oh...thank you," he whispered. A surge of hope ran through his body like a balm.

* * *

"Trowa, do you ever pray?" He had asked that question about six months ago, on a warm night in late summer when the air was sweet with the scent of life and growth. Even on the Colonies, that time of year held a special, languorous magic.

Trowa had taken a long time to answer, which indicated that he was actually thinking about the question rather than answering off the top of his head like most people tended to do. "I rarely ever really pray," he had said at last. "And I never pray when I want something."

"Oh? Why is that?"

They had been in bed, Quatre remembered, with their naked limbs tangled lazily around one another's, tired out but not ready for sleep. It was in that state that Trowa was most receptive to questions about things he normally didn't talk about, and Quatre had taken advantage of it. "I don't think it works that way, to tell the truth." Trowa had said. "When I was growing up, most of the men I lived and worked with were from religious backgrounds, and they prayed whenever they wanted anything...you know, like a safe end to the current battle, the health and welfare of their families, or even just a good, solid paycheck that month. They kept telling me, 'Pray to God, kid, and He will take care of you.'"

"Did you?" He knew, from previous conversations, that Trowa believed in the Judeo-Christian God to some extent, but that extent was rather fuzzy and mysterious to Quatre. He himself had never had much religious education. His curiosity on the subject had been discouraged at an early age, but it still lurked in the background of his mind.

"No." Trowa had given a snort of contempt at the notion. "They seemed to treat God like He was some sort of karmic bank account where X amount of praying equaled Y amount of good fortune. That seemed pretty dumb to me."

"Not to mention disrespectful," Quatre had added after a pause to consider it. If God was some sort of father figure (which was his understanding), then begging and flattery could only earn contempt rather than favor. That, and it seemed like it debased the petitioner in a way. He had read that man was created in God's image, so shouldn't an image of God be able to cope with the vagaries of life without resorting to that kind of groveling?

"Yes, exactly. That's the way it seemed to me, too." Trowa had given him a warm, open smile at that pronouncement. "It was _extremely_ disrespectful, the way they were going about it."

"So that's why you never pray?"

"I didn't say I _never_ prayed, Quatre..." Trowa had purred out the name, rolling the R in a deep-throated rumble, then he'd bumped his forehead playfully against Quatre's and rubbed noses with him, catlike. "I still pray on occasion."

The nose-rubbing had tickled, and Quatre had laughed. "So what do you say to your god when you pray, then?"

"I say..." he'd breathed a heavy, warm puff of air against Quatre's neck, "I say, 'thank You. Thank You, God, for making me so fortunate. Thank You.'"

Quatre's heart had begun to pound at the sound of his name, but by then it was positively thundering. "I also thank your god," he had whispered as Trowa kissed his neck and shoulders. "I thank him...unh!...thank him for delivering you to me...oh!...I must have done something _really_ good in a past life...ah!...to deserve this...AH! Thank you!"

* * *

The staircase was constructed of real wood, which wasn't something that you saw very much of on the Colonies. It was too expensive to import. Quatre was not very familiar with wood as a construction material and was therefore a little wary of it, especially as it looked like the staircase hadn't been repaired lately. Several of the steps looked crooked to him and the handrail canted outward at an alarming angle. He looked down at the first step and saw that the wood had split where nails had been driven into it, and although it looked sturdy enough, the engineer in him was appalled by the use of fragile organic materials for building weight-bearing structures.

However, it was the only way up, and Quatre gripped the railing with his left hand and put his left foot on the first step. That turned out to be a bad idea. His leg immediately buckled when he tried to pull his weight upward on it, and he had to grab the shaky railing to brace himself against a fall. He cried out in pain and surprise, and the sound from his hurt throat was eerily akin to the wail of the gulls that were still circling around his head.

He felt a stab of despair when he realized that his left knee was not going to be able to bear its usual share of his weight on the stairs. He was going to have to rely on the splintered handrail on the outside of the staircase or the granite wall on the inside for support, neither of which looked like a great option. The railing was rickety, the rock wall offered no handholds, and the steps themselves seemed to be deteriorating before his eyes.

Quatre looked away from the staircase, to the lead-grey waves. "Do I want to die by falling or by drowning?" he muttered aloud. A deep shiver worked its way up his spine. "Or do I want to die of indecision?"

He decided it was a stupid argument altogether. Staying on the beach would only offer him death in one form or another, but climbing upwards, as painful and difficult as it might be, offered a sliver of hope. Quatre took it.

_I'm going to kill Duo_, he thought as he settled his right foot on the bottom stair, hauled himself upright, and balanced his weight on the wet granite wall. _I'm going to kill Duo painfully_. He took another step. It wasn't as hard as he though it would be. In fact, the sentiment and the unusual stair climbing method seemed to be working well. _Duo is SO dead. So slowly, painfully dead. I'm going to enjoy it thoroughly._ Right foot, left hand, right foot.

So immersed in concentrating on his climb, Quatre didn't notice that he'd reached the top of the cliff until a gust of cold wind blew across the flat surface of the point and plowed into him with enough force to take his breath away. He instinctively dropped into a half-crouch to make a smaller target of his body, just as he used to do when he was the target of more tangible and more immediately lethal projectiles during the wars.

The wind dropped and Quatre raised his stinging eyes to scan the area for any further threats, but all he could see in the grey gloom was an empty stretch of road to his left and the shapes of the lighthouse, visitor's center, and jeep to his right. The boxy shape of the jeep looked odd somehow, and Quatre had to blink a few times before it came fully into focus.

It was tilted, which was why it looked odd. He had parked it parallel to a low guard rail, and evidently the blast from the packing crate had knocked the vehicle to one side with enough force to nearly send it over the edge. It was balanced on the two passenger-side tires with a stanchion from the guard rail embedded just behind the door. The driver-side tires were about half a meter from the ground. Quatre's heart started to thump painfully in his chest when he realized that the jeep might very easily have broken free of the guardrail and come crashing down on his head as he lay unconscious at the bottom of the cliff.

He took a few seconds to get his erratic breathing under control before he began limping toward the jeep. Everything that represented safety and sanity was in that jeep: his toolbox, the jerrycans of water and fuel, his GPS unit, his laptop, his cell phone, and the half-empty cup of coffee in the dashboard cup holder. Those were the sane, rational representations of reality he was walking toward, and when he reached them this entire brutal nightmare would begin to fade.

Right.

Getting the driver-side door open was a pain since the car was tilted at a 110-degree angle and Quatre was working against gravity and a gusty wind that kept trying to blow it closed, but desperation and anger gave him the extra strength he needed to fling it open enough to slip his upper body into the driver's seat. After that, it was simply a matter of rocking his weight back and forth before the vehicle freed itself from the stanchion and landed on all four tires.

He laughed huskilly in relief and began to search his pockets for his keyring, which he found in his right front pocket just above a keyring-shaped bruise on his upper thigh. The keys were undamaged. Quatre felt an irrational surge of jealousy toward them.

The jeep started up just fine when Quatre keyed up the ignition, much to his relief, and he slammed the door shut to cut off the biting wind. Now that he felt safe, the first thing he did was to grab the paper cup of stone-cold coffee out of its holder on the dashboard and drink down the last few swallows with an eagerness that bordered on greed. As disgusting as cold, stale coffee tasted, it was far better than the taint of sea water that lingered in his mouth, throat, and sinuses. The water tasted of corruption, but the coffee tasted of sanity.

He hunted for his phone while he waited for the engine to warm up enough to make turning on the heater worth his while. There was no way he could drive in his current condition. He needed to get warm enough to bring some sensation into his extremities and to stop his convulsive shivers before he took the wheel or he'd just end up driving off the road and mashing the jeep into some unsuspecting tree. That wouldn't do, not when he had some business to take care of first.

The phone had lodged itself between the passenger seat and the door and the floor, and it took Quatre a couple of minutes to retrieve it. His thawing fingers were still numb but were beginning to tingle painfully as his circulation improved, and the awkward position of the phone wasn't helping any.

"Fucking piece of shit," he growled under his breath, "just come out of there so I can call Duo and ask him just what the fuck he was thinking. Come on, _move_!"

It was as if the phone felt threatened – it practically leaped into Quatre's hand. He sat up, wiping moisture from his brow, and began to dial the prefix code for off-Earth calls.

* * *

"Quatre, this wouldn't have happened if you'd actually _listened to me_ and bought the right kind of shoes," Duo griped.

Quatre sighed, resigned. "Yeah, I know."

They were in the downstairs bathroom of Quatre and Trowa's townhouse, dressed in sweaty t-shirts and shorts. Duo's feet were encased in elaborate white, yellow and orange basketball shoes which must have set him back a weeks' pay, and Quatre was barefoot. His shoes had been stuffed into the wastebin by an irate Duo.

"This is probably going to scar."

"Well, it'll have plenty of company."

"Not funny, Winner." Duo concentrated on picking tiny pieces of gravel out of the shallow but dirty scrape on his friend's knee with a pair of stainless steel tweezers.

Quatre, perched on the counter next to the sink, turned the faucet on and off to distract himself from the sharp pains shooting up and down his leg. "I thought my climbing shoes had enough tread on them."

"Yeah, for climbing. Not for basketball." Duo closed one eye and stuck his tongue out in concentration as he picked out a stubbornly sticky little stone. "Come out, you little bugger...ah, there. Did I hurt you?" He looked up at Quatre with wide, concerned eyes.

"No, it's okay." Quatre smiled reassuringly although his knee was stinging so badly that it felt like he'd shoved it into a wasps' nest. "Is that it?"

"No, I have to clean and bandage it. Give me the alcohol and gauze. I'll need some tape, too."

Quatre opened a drawer beside his left thigh and handed Duo the necessary supplies. "This is going to hurt, isn't it?" he asked, striving for a light tone.

Duo dabbed at he blood streaming from the wound with a damp washcloth. "Quat, if there was any possible way I could make this hurt less, I would. You know that, don't you?" He looked up at Quatre again, and there was a shine in his eyes that hurt Quatre more than his scraped knee could have possibly done.

His voice was husky when he spoke: "I know it, Duo. Go on, do what you have to."

In the end, it hadn't left a scar at all.

* * *

Quatre shut off his phone before he had even finished punching in the off-Earth code.

He switched on the heater and tried to relax in the driver's seat while he wracked his brains on who he should call about this incident.

Not Duo. He had either been lied to or had been coerced by someone. He would never intentionally hurt Quatre, and there was nothing he could do right now anyway.

Not the local authorities. This was a terrorist act against a former Gundam pilot, and although Quatre wasn't overt about his pilot status, he wasn't exactly a private figure, either. Anyone with enough patience and the correct connections could have put two and two together and come up with more.

Not Trowa. Oh no, not Trowa. He had quite enough pressure on him already without the added worry of his lover being in danger. He could get the sugar-coated version of the incident later in the week when Quatre was scheduled to come home, and everything would surely be over by then.

Not Heero. Involving Heero mean involving Relena, which might end up endangering both of them. That was too big a risk.

Not Noin or Zechs. They were off on Mars, and there was no reliable way to communicate with them at the present time.

That left only one person. Quatre dialed the number from memory and tried to make himself feel calm, or at least to sound calm, while the phone rang.

His call was answered after only two rings. "Yes," he said, surprised and pleased to find that his voice was steady, "May I speak to Agent Chang, please?"

TBC


	3. Investigations

**Title:** Never Turn Your Back on the Sea (3?)  
**Section Title:** Investigations  
**Author:** Alleyprowler  
**Rating/Warnings:** M for language, violence, and adult subject matter.  
**Pairings:** 3x4x3, 1xR and 2xH.

* * *

The air was like milk that morning.

The clouds in the upper atmosphere had cleared away some time during the night and now the winter sun was trying to illuminate the damp earth, but the feeble warmth was only serving to leach moisture from the ground and make the fog so dense that you could practically wind it around yourself like a shroud.

The local airfield was surprisingly sophisticated for being in such an out-of-the-way area. Although it was mostly used for recreational aircraft and the private jets of the resort owners, it was large enough for emergency transport craft and shuttles, as Quatre had discovered when he'd called late the night before. The sleek high-speed, high-range Preventer's shuttle would be able to land here just fine, he was assured, as long as the pilot could land on instruments alone. Quatre smiled. Not many pilots could make a landing in this sort of weather, but he knew Wufei would merely find it an annoyance.

As he'd predicted, Wufei's red and white shuttle came down just as easily in the pea-soup fog as it would have if the visibility had been unlimited. He was only three minutes late, too. Quatre pulled out of his parking space and brought his battered jeep as close to the shuttle as was practical and waited patiently while Wufei went through the post-flight systems check. He would have gotten out of the vehicle to greet his friend in person, but his knee was beginning to throb dully again in spite of the painkillers he had swallowed and he didn't feel like putting weight on it until it was absolutely necessary. Besides, it was warm in the jeep. If he went out into the cold air, he knew that the chills would come back, and he didn't want to meet Wufei looking like a frightened puppy. He already looked bad enough, he knew.

Wufei exited the craft at last, taking a moment to scan his surroundings before setting foot on the ground. Quatre smiled; same old Wufei. Underneath his heavy topcoat, Wufei's posture was ramrod-straight, yet he moved with the same darting, dizzying precision with which he had piloted his mobile suits. It was obvious that he had retained his edge.

Wufei had grown to be a long, lean, whiplike figure with a ponytail hanging in a graceful sumi-ink brushstroke between his shoulderblades, and his eyes glittered as bright and dangerous as black ice. He was a walking, thinking weapon, and Quatre was quite glad they were on the same side.

Wufei jogged toward the jeep briskly with his duffel bag over one shoulder, and Quatre shivered when he saw the little clouds that his breath made in the damp winter air. He buried his chin into the fleecy lining of his parka and braced himself for the blast of cold air that came into the cab when Wufei pulled the door open, but the Preventer closed it behind himself quickly and the warm air blowing from the heater vents cut the chill quickly. "Good morning, Wufei, it's good to see you again," he greeted, smiling.

Wufei turned his sharp gaze on him, giving Quatre the impression that those black eyes were somehow looking right through him, as if he was made of glass. "Morning, Winner. Where are you hurt and how badly?"

Apparently Wufei had never gotten over his distaste for small talk. "I'm not hurt very badly anywhere...well, except my knee. I think I sprained it."

"Show me."

Quatre was a little taken aback by that. "What?"

"Show me this sprained knee of yours so I can tell whether to deputize you or ground you." Wufei repeated with exaggerated patience.

"Excuse me, did you say 'deputize'?"

Quatre's expression must have been amusing, for a corner of Wufei's mouth twitched upward and his eyes narrowed in a smirk. "Yes. If this is Preventer business, I'll have to make you a Preventer, at least on a temporary basis. Otherwise, you're just another nosy civilian."

Quatre ignored the jab. He was, after all, quite content to be a civilian. "Can you do that? Is it legal?"

"It's expedient," Wufei said, which didn't really answer the question. "Now please show me your knee so we can get this thing started."

Not really having any other choice, Quatre rolled up the leg of his pants, turned sideways in his seat, and let Wufei poke and prod around his knee. He pronounced the joint sprained but serviceable, then badgered Quatre into showing him his sore elbow and other, more minor, injuries. When he was finished, he gave Quatre an unreadable look. "You have the luck of the devil, my friend. Most people, having been blown up and knocked off a cliff, would have had the grace to at least require hospitalization, yet you walk away as if nothing had happened."

Quatre shifted uncomfortably under that intent gaze. "I was fortunate."

"You were indeed. Don't push it."

Quatre didn't know what to say to that, so he simply put the jeep in gear and started to drive back to the highway.

"How far away is this Bell Point place?" Wufei asked as he did a quick inventory of his bag.

"It's about twenty minutes north of here." Quatre squinted into the fog and flipped on the windshield wipers to try to clear away some of the condensation. It didn't help much. Visibility wasn't more than two or three car lengths ahead. "Maybe thirty," he amended.

"Pull over."

Quatre shot an apprehensive glance at his passenger as he pulled onto the soft shoulder. "Is something wrong?"

"Not with me." Wufei opened his door and jumped out, slamming it shut behind him. Quatre watched in bewilderment as he jogged around to the driver's side of the jeep and pointed to indicate that he wanted Quatre to move to the passenger side. Quatre carefully maneuvered his abused body over the driveshaft hump and settled into the seat, gasping a little as a bruise on his calf accidentally brushed the top of the gearshift knob.

"Wufei, what are you _doing_?" he demanded as Wufei pulled the driver's side door open and hopped in.

"Driving," Wufei said with an infuriating smirk. "What does it look like?"

"But you don't even know where we're going!" Quatre objected.

"No, but you do. You can navigate. I'm not about to sit here and watch you wince every time you have to use the clutch."

"I wasn't wincing, I was..." Quatre stopped and tried to think of a better word for what he was doing. Every time he had to let out the clutch he felt a sensation like a cold, poisoned dagger trying to pry his off kneecap, but he wasn't wincing, he was... He couldn't come up with a better word, so he decided to change the subject instead. "Wufei, this is my jeep. I'll drive it."

"It's not yours, it belongs to Island Rentals," Wufei replied, pointing helpfully to a sticker affixed to the corner of the windshield.

Quatre glared at the sticker as if it was the source of all his troubles. Perhaps it was. If the company had been out of heavy-duty vehicles that day and had only been able to offer short-range electric economy cars, this whole thing wouldn't have happened, would it? "It _did_ belong to that rental company, but in case you missed it, Mr. Observant, there's a rather large dent in the door right here and I thought it would be easier to just call the rental company and buy the damn thing rather than explain how it got that way. So this is _my_ jeep." His voice broke on the last syllable and he started to cough.

"Are you all right?" Wufei asked, sounding genuinely concerned rather than smart-assed for once.

"No, I'm not all right!" Quatre snapped. "I'm tired, I hurt, I don't feel well, and I'm just slightly freaked out by the fact that someone tried to _take my life_ yesterday."

A short, embarrassed pause grew into a long, embarrassed pause as Wufei processed the information. It had been a long time since he had heard Quatre sound like that. He was normally a pretty level-headed person, at least by Wufei's standards, and if he did have occasion to raise his voice, it was usually to shout out orders or convey important information. But now he seemed almost angry. His face was white except for a few bruises and the hectic flush on his cheeks, his breathing was rapid and shallow, and his hands were balled into hard, bony fists on his lap.

No, not angry. Distressed. 'Freaked out', if you wanted the vernacular. Wufei understood that, or at least he knew how to cope with it, which amounted to the same thing.

First, he calmed himself. He took a few deep, slow breaths and forced his hands and feet to relax – with no tension in the extremities, there can be no tension in the torso. _Control the physical signs, and the emotion itself will disappear_. Wufei couldn't remember where he head heard that, but it had served him well over the years, just as it served him well now. He felt the tension leave his neck and shoulders like stagnant water from a drain. "Quatre," he said as soon as he felt calm again, "this will all turn out okay. I'm here to help, both as a Preventer and a friend."

Quatre slumped against the seat and closed his eyes. Aside from a few coughs, he repeated Wufei's breathing exercise, and his shoulders relaxed a bit. "I know that, Wufei. I didn't mean to be difficult, I'm just a little concerned about that phone call. Now that I've had time to think about it, it seems sort of weird, but I can't quite remember how..."

Wufei hung his head. "I can confirm the date and time of the call, but the actual contents are not recorded on either local or EarthSphere Communications privacy codes. Unless you've actually recorded the transmission yourself, we will have to disregard—" he was cut off as Quatre gasped loudly.

"I did!" he exclaimed.

"You did what?" Wufei sat up straighter in his seat and pushed a stray lock of hair behind his ear.

"I recorded it! I recorded part of the conversation!" Quatre was nearly glowing with the thrill of realization.

"You did? Voluntarily?"

Quatre's eyes lit up so brightly that they rivaled the sky and the sea on a sunny day. "Of course, voluntarily! I need to track every financial transaction with my accountant, so I nearly always record Duo's calls. We're listed as business partners to my academic advisor and I used to record every conversation we had over rare metals, but that got too cumbersome, so I put his calls on manual screening so I could separate his social things from business things," he stopped himself short and shook his head slightly. "Wufei, the point is that I've saved that call, both audio and video."

Anyone who didn't know Wufei well would have thought he looked unaffected by that revelation, but Quatre could see the slight widening of his eyes, the upturn of the corner of his mouth, and the setting of his shoulders and knew he was very happy to receive that information. "Ah-ha. We might be able to download it from here if you have all your retrieval codes and a hefty credit chip—"

"That I have," Quatre said, grinning.

"But I'm afraid my laptop needs a new battery, and I don't suppose..." Wufei peered out the fog-beaded windshield at the unrelieved expanse of dripping evergreens, "there's an electronics shop around here?"

Quatre coughed into his fist, but he was still grinning. "No, something even better. Put the jeep in gear, Wufei, we're going to Neil's General Store, the island's answer to all you consumer needs from fishing bait to peanut butter."

Wufei looked mildly disgusted. "I don't want bait or peanut butter, I want an XC-class rechargeable battery."

"I'm sure they have it, Wufei," Quatre assured his comrade. "And even if they don't, they can order it. Now hurry up, I want to get some cough medicine. I think I have a cold."

"Roger that," Wufei said, and pulled the jeep back onto the highway.

* * *

There was only one general store in the little town, but it was the kind of place that stocked everything from lingerie to light bulbs. You could wander the aisles for hours and stock up on practically everything you might need for a stay at one of the little resort houses that dotted the area. There was even a post office tucked into one corner, staffed by a dozing octogenarian with a white beard that fell nearly to his waist. He appeared to have cobwebs on him, but that might have been Quatre's imagination.

"Do you suppose they have batteries here?" Wufei asked, dubiously eyeing the rather dusty merchandise on the worm-eaten wooden shelves.

"Why wouldn't they?" Quatre replied with some surprise. To his eyes, the place was a wonderland of efficient marketing, and a welcome change from the small and extremely specialized shops that tended to crop up in the Colonies. Back at home, if you wanted a loaf of bread, you went to the baker. If you needed new socks, you went to the sock shop. If you were looking for a screwdriver, you went to the hardware store. A full shopping list usually meant at least two or three hours of walking from tiny shop to tiny shop, which was why he usually left that job to Mrs. Charles. This place was wonderful. "Look, they're probably over there," he said, pointing to an aisle full of stationery supplies. "I'm going to go find some cough medicine and I'll meet you up front."

Wufei, still looking doubtful, walked toward the indicated aisle while Quatre headed for the section that sold patent medicines. He had already been there late the previous night to pick up some pain relievers for his injuries, and so he knew that the over-the-counter remedy selection was vast, but he wasn't prepared for the sheer volume of boxes and bottles that were waiting for him. There had to be at least twelve types of cough syrup, half that many types of medicated lozenges, and another six brands of throat spray, all of which looked like legitimate ways of beating the common cold into submission. Quatre blinked at the array and shook his head. "They're probably all the same thing anyway," he muttered, and he grabbed a large bottle of something off the shelf simply because he liked the purple color of the label.

Wufei had found his batteries after all and was paying for them at the cashier's counter when Quatre caught up with him. "I'm ready to go," he said, plunking the bottle down on the counter and reaching for his wallet. "Just give me a second to..."

Wufei snatched the bottle up and began to scrutinize the label carefully. "Oh, no. Not this." He looked up at the cashier, who regarded him with a sleepy sort of indifference. "He's not buying this crap," he said in a tone of voice that suggested that the cashier was personally responsible for Quatre's misguided choice, but the cashier merely shrugged and went back to his magazine. He spent four months of the year dealing with tourists, and in spite of the official-looking jacket, Wufei was just another townie to him.

"Wait, what's wrong with it?" Quatre asked, but he found himself being dragged along by his sleeve back to the patent medicine aisle with a speed that made his sore knee begin to seriously complain.

"Everything is wrong with it," Wufei said, waving the bottle in front of Quatre's nose. "Quatre, that stuff is all alcohol and red dye number 40. If you're going to be of any use, I need you to be _sober_."

Quatre muffled some coughs against his sleeve; his chest was beginning to feel heavy and swampy and he just wanted to grab something to fix it and go. "So what do you recommend?"

Wufei put the offending bottle back on the shelf and picked up a different brand. "What kind of a cough is it?"

"A really annoying one."

"Very funny. Is it the tickle in the throat kind, or the deep in the chest kind, and are you coughing up much phlegm?"

Quatre winced. Phlegm. He did not like to believe that his body produced something that sounded so utterly gross. He could accept the usual liquids and solids and gases that the human body excretes, but somehow the word 'phlegm' had always sent a pang of revulsion through his stomach. "I'm a little bit congested," he admitted grudgingly.

"You need an expectorant, then. It'll help clear out the phlegm." Wufei looked over his shoulder when he heard the faint gagging noise Quatre made. "What?"

Quatre's expression was the very picture of disgust. "I just don't like that word. It sounds so..._slimy_."

"What, phlegm?" Wufei asked. A wicked gleam came into his eyes as Quatre nodded. "Okay, I won't say phlegm anymore. How about snot? Are you okay with snot?"

Quatre glowered at his companion darkly. "I'm going to start getting annoyed with _you_ in a moment."

"Fine. Mucus it is, then," Wufei said, turning back to the task at hand. He seemed rather surprised when a bottle of aspirin bounced off his head. "Oh, that was really mature, Winner," he snarled, picking up the bottle and putting it in its proper place.

"Yeah, and so is baiting me when I'm tired and cranky. Frankly, I think you deserved it."

"That does it, you're taking a nap on the shuttle. If you're going to behave like a two-year-old, I can certainly treat you like one."

Although a nap actually sounded like a splendid idea, Quatre was in an argumentative mood and felt compelled to rebel against it. "Oh, please, Wufei, that patriarchal attitude might scare your cadets, but...hang on a second, where are we going?"

Wufei answered while he read ingredients on every single type of cough medicine on the shelf. "First we're going to Bell Point, of course. I want to see if there's any of that explosive left, or anything else, for that matter. After that, we're going to get a good, hot lunch. I'm starving. I don't suppose there's a good place to eat around here?"

Quatre thought about the cozy little café with its elderly furniture, roaring fire, and comforting smells of hot coffee and old books, and sighed wistfully. "Yeah, I know a place," he said. He didn't tell Wufei that once he got there and parked his butt in one of those old-fashioned overstuffed chairs in front of the fire it was going to take a goddamn crowbar to get him back out, but then Wufei didn't need to know that.

"Good. After that, we're going to pay a little visit to Duo."

Quatre suddenly felt exhausted. He sat down on the floor and leaned against an endcap display of a type of soda he'd never heard of, sighing wearily. "Wufei, I don't really feel like being dragged all the way to L2 right now. I understand why you want to question Duo, but why do I have to go along as well?"

Wufei's dark glare clearly indicated that he believed Quatre had taken leave of his senses. "Quatre, someone just made an attempt on your life. If you think I'm going to let you out of my sight until this mess is cleared up, you're nuts."

Quatre bristled. "Oh, so now you're my babysitter?"

"You can think of it as protective custody if it makes you feel any better."

"It doesn't."

"Fine. I'm your babysitter. And if you give me any more attitude about it, I'll arrest you."

Knowing that Wufei wasn't the type to make idle threats, Quatre held his tongue and waited till his companion had finished his perusal of the medicines.

"This should do," Wufei said a few minutes later, startling Quatre out of a light doze.

"Oh. Oh, good," Quatre said, trying to sound more alert than he really was. He accepted the bottle of clear syrup Wufei handed him and pushed himself to his feet. "Let's get going."

* * *

The solid white wall of morning fog had cleared to wisps and tatters by the time they got to Bell Point. Mist floated across the tarmac like bits of ghostly winding shroud as Wufei brought the jeep to a halt in front of a line of three traffic cones. They weren't standard traffic cones; they were shorter, wider, and a hell of a lot less battered than the ones used by road crews. They were obviously the kind of cones that were packed in a standard driver's emergency kit. "Sealing off the scene?" Wufei asked, raising an eyebrow at his passenger.

"It's the best I could do under the circumstances," Quatre replied. His voice was a bit muffled since he had his lower face buried in the fleece collar of his jacket. He looked cold.

"Although I'd doubt anyone would come by a tourist trap on the off-season, I suppose it was a reasonable precaution. Good thinking." Coming from Wufei, that was high praise indeed. Quatre merely nodded.

Wufei maneuvered the jeep around the cones and drove at a sedate pace to the end of the point. One or twice he had to oversteer due to the buffeting winds that drove across the unprotected piece of land, but they got to the lighthouse without incident.

Wufei parked in the middle of the road, parallel to the little white house, and frowned out the windshield at the blasted hand truck and packing crate bits that littered the road. "Well, it seems no one has touched anything. That's good." He wondered briefly why he was speaking in such a low voice. It was as if he was afraid of being overheard, but who was here to spy on them? The gulls?

Quatre kept his voice pitched low also. "I didn't think anyone would come out here since it's marked a dead end, but you never know. Bored teenagers will go anywhere."

They shared a brief mutual grin at that. In spite of – or perhaps, because of – their 'traditional' upbringing, Wufei and Quatre were no strangers to teenage rebellion. There were times when you simply had to escape parental authority and go do something stupid and dangerous, and Bell Point seemed to be an apt venue for such things. It was isolated, obscure, and forbidden, which were the three things that attracted young rebels in droves.

Wufei's grin subsided as he scanned the area. He didn't see any of the litter that he associated with young people on the street or on the shoulder. Aside from the curled shards of aluminum packing case and the scorch marks, he didn't see any litter at all. That in itself was odd. Even on a fresh construction site, he would have expected a few food wrappers, cigarette butts, or piles of sawdust. Here, there was nothing.

He glanced at his passenger, who was staring out the windshield apprehensively. "You stay here," he said, not liking the haunted look in Quatre's eyes. It spooked him. "I'll go take a quick look around."

"You won't find anything," Quatre said cryptically.

Wufei, caught in the middle of opening the jeep's door, turned his head sharply to the right. "What do you mean?"

Quatre shook his head as if he had lost interest in the subject. "Nothing. Go ahead and do what you need to do."

"Hand me my bag, please," Wufei requested. The large duffel bag was still in the passenger side footwell, held against the firewall by Quatre's knees. Quatre pulled the bulky bag free and settled it awkwardly on the gearbox while Wufei opened it and rummaged around inside. He pushed aside extra clothes, spare uniform jackets, toiletries, maps, rations, and other unbreakables until his fingers brushed the nylon surface of his evidence kit. "Ah, here it is," he said, pulling the square bag free. He closed the top of the duffel bag and helped Quatre shove it back down on the floor. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he promised, tucking the kit under his arm.

"All right." Quatre sank down in his seat and pulled the hood of his coat over his head.

Wufei pulled his own hood up after he exited the jeep; the wind bit hard as it gusted across the unprotected point, and it stung his cheeks and ears. He set the black nylon case down on the vehicle's hood and unzipped it on three sides, opening it to reveal a compact yet thorough traveling crime lab. Thank goodness for President Neilson's decision to route most of the Khushrenada fortune into the Preventers! Wufei would have signed on even without the generous perks and fancy equipment, but having both bolstered his efficiency and helped to make him one of their most vaunted assets.

Wufei snapped a pair of dark purple latex gloves onto his hands and grabbed several heavyweight plastic bags from a caddy on the right side of his case. He took a whitespot-ultraviolet flashlight from its snapring holder and stuck it in his front coat pocket. He looked over the rest of the kit, took a palm-sized video camera and decided that was enough to begin with. He zipped the bag closed and went to the epicenter of the blast area.

He was certain Quatre knew what he was talking about when he described the explosives and the detonation device, but Wufei knew that physical evidence was necessary in a case like this. He crouched down low on the wet pavement and scooped up several shards of burnt casing with his gloved hand, depositing them in the heavy plastic bag. He sealed the top. Forensics could examine it later.

Next, Wufei crossed the street and entered the opened door of the visitor's center. He didn't need to turn on his flashlight to see that the interior was just a bit too neat, but he turned it on anyway. The ultraviolet component of the light might reveal something.

It didn't. No blood, no fingerprints, nothing. It was as if the small house had been sterilized and teleported into place whole. "What the hell?" Wufei said quietly. He studied the windows and doorframes and saw nothing but hotwelded nails, neatly mitered joints, and plumb-straight angles. A single spiderweb high in the corner of one window was the only thing out of place in the strangely pristine walls. It was covered in tiny silver beads of water from the fog.

Wufei took the video camera out of his pocket and murmured his observations and suspicions while recording the visual evidence – or lack thereof. He walked out of the building into the sunlight, which was beginning to dim from yet more rain clouds, and filmed the blast site, then went to the section of guard railing that had been torn into wickedly sharp metal curls by a flying piece of packing crate. It must have been where Quatre went over. Wufei leaned cautiously over the edge to get a better look, and felt the bottom fall out of his stomach.

The drop wasn't sheer at this point, which was probably what saved Quatre's life, but it was still pretty damn steep. Wufei could see a streak of disturbed earth and loosened scree that marked where his friend's body had slid the fifteen meters or so to the bottom of the cliff, but since the tide was in, it was difficult to gauge the real distance. Powerful-looking waves crashed against the bottom of the cliff and sent up spume so high that he could feel droplets of cold water on his own face.

Feeling a little shaky, he raised the camera again and recorded the drop. "And this is where Winner was blown from the clifftop while trying to get behind the jeep for shelter. I'd estimate a fifteen to twenty meter drop...and I know I'm not supposed to editorialize on these recordings, but if he was a cat, he'd be on his ninth life by now.

"End of report by Chang Wufei, the sixth of February AC 206, Bell Point case, coordinates enclosed," he finished in a rush. Wufei simultaneously shut off the camera and turned around, not wanting to see any more of the cliff. He began to walk toward the jeep with his eyes fixed firmly to the ground.

"Wufei?" A faint, almost dreamlike voice called.

At the sound of his name, Wufei looked up. Quatre was there, standing between himself and the jeep, and Wufei felt his blood chill. Quatre, standing in the foreground of a harsh landscape, seemed colorless, insubstantial, hard to see. The sky, the road, the rocks, the trees, even the jeep stood out in sharp relief compared to the ghostly-looking figure in front of him, and Wufei wanted to raise his hands to ward off the apparition.

"Wufei?" Quatre asked again in a clearer voice.

The wind gusted and a shred of fog between them blew out to the sea. Quatre came back into view, pale but just as real and solid as ever. _It was just some damn mist, you coward! _"Yes? Is everything okay?" Wufei asked.

"Fine, I was just wondering if you were finished. You were standing over that drop off for an awfully long time."

Wufei began to put his things away busily, using the action to conceal his shudder of unease. "I was trying to gauge the distance to the bottom, but the tide was in so I had to wait for a break in between waves," he half-lied. "I figure it was about twenty meters. What do you think?" He looked at Quatre's face and realized that the blond man knew he wasn't telling the truth, but wasn't condemning him for it. Oh no. If anything, Quatre was just as spooked as he was.

"I think it's not important right now," Quatre said. His teeth were chattering slightly. "I also think we ought to get out of here. There's nothing more to see."

Wufei took one more sweeping look at the point. He snapped the latch of his kit closed and tucked it under his arm. "You're right. There's nothing to see here. Let's go."

* * *

In the twenty minutes it took to drive back to the sparsely-populated area that was called a town, Wufei remembered that he was very hungry. Or rather, a low growl from his stomach reminded him. "Quatre, isn't there a restaurant here? I thought you said something about one earlier."

Quatre shook himself out of a light, uneasy doze. "Oh, I forgot about that," he said in a sleep-thickened voice. He yawned, coughed harshly, and pointed straight ahead at a blinking red four-way stoplight. "Turn left here. This is the main street."

Wufei braked for a moment at the light, then wheeled the jeep to the left. There was no traffic on the street, main street or not. "What's it called? What am I looking for?" he asked, his dark eyes scanning both sides of the deserted road, which looked dark and blurry from behind the slowly swishing windshield wipers. There were quite a few businesses set up here in the middle of nowhere, he noted, but most of them were tourist-oriented and were dark and abandoned deep in the pit of winter.

"The place is called 'It's My Treat'," Quatre said as he stared out of his window. "It has a red and white checked awning, and I think it's between the cinema and the--oh, there it is!"

Wufei guided the jeep across a street that would have been packed bumper-to-bumper with cars in the summer, but which was now deserted. Most of the businesses were deserted too, at least temporarily. The neon signs on the bookstore, the tiny gallery, and the gift shop on that block were dark. The real estate agent across the way had their sign on, but it flickered uncertainly in the winter gloom. The only solid and cheery light came from the small establishment in the big brick building in front of them, the one with 'IT'S MY TREAT' painted in exuberant gold letters on a condensation-fogged picture window.

"Is this it?" Wufei asked, bringing the vehicle to a stop in front of the restaurant.

"Yes, this is it," Quatre affirmed.

Wufei parked the jeep neatly in front of the building, keyed off the ignition, and let himself out into the cold, dark, damp air. "It's the only restaurant?" he asked.

Quatre, who already had his hand on the old-fashioned hook-and-thumb-bolt door, nodded with a smile. "Yes, I'm afraid so. Unless you want to go back to Neil's General Store, that is."

Wufei did not want that. "No, I'm sure this is fine. Lead on."

Quatre led on, but it was Wufei who entered the establishment first. He examined the blackboard menu above and behind the cash register with a critical eye. A very fat woman in a bright red apron was arguing with a skinny teenage boy in the serving area, and both were speaking in a language he could not understand. Wufei scowled and slapped his hand sharply on the counter. "Hello! Service!"

The fat woman and the teenaged boy both jumped and stared at Wufei with identical expressions of pure shock. Wufei noted the family resemblance between the two and concluded that they were grandmother and grandson. The grandmother was the first to recover; her fat face was immediately wreathed in smiles as she bustled to the cash register. "Good afternoon, gentlemen! What can I get for you?" she asked in a voice that was strangely breathy and girlish for a woman of her size.

Wufei scanned the blackboard menu. "I'll have the hot chicken sandwich on Russian rye. No onions. Side order of home fries. Large black coffee and a bottle of water"

The fat woman scribbled down the order frantically. Wufei leaned over the counter to make sure she'd gotten it right, nodded in satisfaction, then pushed Quatre forward.

"And what would you like, dear?" the woman asked, smiling at the blond.

Quatre sneezed abruptly. "Excuse me," he apologized, taking a paper napkin out of a dispenser of the counter to wipe his nose. "I think I'll have the same thing he's having."

The fat woman frowned and made a clucking sound with her tongue. "You sound like you could do with some chicken soup, dear. Would you like that instead of the potatoes?"

"That's fine, thanks," Quatre said with an embarrassed smile. He ducked his head and sneezed again.

"And maybe some orange juice instead of water," the fat lady suggested.

Quatre nodded his assent. "That's fine, ma'am. We'll be in the back room if that's all right."

The fat woman beamed. "Of course, dear. Make yourself at home."

"Most of the magazines are less than ten years old," added the teenager in a voice that dripped sarcasm. The fat woman whipped a dishcloth out of her apron pocket and belted him across the head with it.

Wufei smiled darkly at the exchange, then turned his attention to Quatre, who was leading the way toward the back of the café. It was, indeed, a very cozy and inviting space, if perhaps a bit dim and gloomy. A fieldstone fireplace took up one wall. Wufei was surprised to see that the crackling fire was built out of real wood – cedar, from the smell of it. He felt a sense of wonder that such a small business could afford such a rich luxury, but then he remembered that he was on Earth and that wood was pretty much taken for granted, especially in these vast stretches of protected lands.

Quatre sighed noisily as he threw himself into an armchair close to the fire. "This feels great," he murmured in sheer relief, kicking his booted feet up on a cracked leather ottoman.

Wufei selected an overstuffed loveseat to sit in, mainly because it had a low, battered oak table in front of it. It wasn't very close to the fire, but he could still feel the heat coming from it as he rummaged through his duffel bag for his laptop. "You do realize that that woman talked you into at least five credits' worth more lunch than you really wanted?" He found his laptop and his satellite modem and set them both down on the table.

Quatre cracked one eye open and smiled. "I think my budget can afford the strain, Wufei. Thank you for your concern."

The modem snapped neatly into a port on the back side of the laptop, and Wufei turned the compact computer on. "It's your money. But I guess the chicken soup and the orange juice might help your cold," he added reluctantly as he typed in his password.

"I don't like potatoes much anyway."

"Er, I guess this is yours, then" said a third voice. Both Quatre and Wufei looked up to see the teenaged boy hovering over them with a serving tray. He had a soup bowl in one hand.

"I ordered the potatoes, yes," Wufei said, and barely spared a glance at the boy as the bowl was set down on the table in front of him.

"Oh, that was fast," Quatre said. He accepted the bowl the boy handed him with a smile.

The teenager set down a bottle of water, a glass of orange juice, and two thick ceramic mugs of hot coffee on the low oak table. "No problem. Hope you feel better soon, sir," he said with a nod in Quatre's direction, and hurried off to the front of the café to answer his grandmother's call.

As Quatre sampled his soup, Wufei leaned over his laptop and tried to establish a connection between his finicky satellite modem and the ICC database. He laughed out loud when the metallic _bi-bi-oom!_ sound of a secure connection registered. "Ah, I think I have it." Wufei grinned as he typed in Quatre's home access number. "What's your retrieval code?" he asked out loud.

Rather than answering aloud, Quatre got up and typed it in himself. "The walls have ears," he said in what was supposed to be a spooky horror-movie voice.

"You're a riot," Wufei said dryly, "you really are." He turned down the volume control and scrolled through the short list of saved messages and calls. His dark eyes widened slightly when he saw the timestamp. "Ye gods, did he really call you at quarter of six in the morning?"

"I guess he forgot about the time difference," Quatre said with a shrug.

"That's thoughtless even for Maxwell."

"He was excited," Quatre said, evidently needing to cover for his friend. Wufei aimed a glare at him, but Quatre had turned his attention back to his soup for the time being.

"Fine. I'm going to replay it." Wufei touched the PLAY button on the screen and watched the silent exchange with interest. He backed it up and played it again, and again.

He only paused it when the teenage boy set a tray with two sandwiches and a plate of home fries down on the table, along with two slices of warm apple pie. Wufei looked at the pie slices, each of which was topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and looked up at the boy. "We did not ask for this pie," he said in a low, dangerous voice.

"I know, but Grandma insisted," the boy said, undaunted. "It's free."

"I see." Wufei looked at the pies and noted the way that the vanilla ice cream was drooling over the crusts in a slow melt. He swallowed thickly. "Thank your grandmother for us. We will not be requiring your services again today."

The teenager shrugged. "If you say so," he said, and went to the front of the café.

Wufei watched the boy until he had disappeared behind an industrial-sized freezer, then he picked up his sandwich. It looked okay. It smelled okay. He took a tentative bite and thought it tasted okay. He swallowed. "Quatre, eat," he ordered.

Quatre, who had been lying against the thickly padded armchair staring at the fireplace as if hypnotized, sat up straight. "What is it?" he asked, picking up his mug of coffee.

"Food first." Wufei gestured to the low table. "Then I've got something to show you."

Quatre picked up his sandwich and performed the same quick inspection that Wufei had before taking an experimental bite. His eyes locked onto Wufei's as he ate. "I can't tell from your expression whether you're relieved or worried," he said after a few minutes.

Wufei was surprised; he had forgotten how good Quatre was at reading body language. "Both, actually," he confessed.

"So I take it there's good news and bad news."

"Yes. I'll tell you all about it once you eat your lunch." Wufei stared pointedly at the mostly-untouched sandwich in Quatre's hands.

Quatre didn't roll his eyes, but it certainly looked like he wanted to. He knew, however, that trying to argue with Wufei was akin to butting one's head against a brick wall, so he quietly finished his meal (minus the soggy apple pie), and waited patiently for Wufei to do the same.

Finally Wufei wiped his fingers on a napkin and turned his attention back to the laptop. He patted the cushion next to him to indicate that he wanted Quatre to sit next to him, and once the blond was settled, he began a frame-by-frame replay of the call.

"This is definitely Duo," he said, pointing to the staticky image on the screen. Quatre nodded, taking in the fuzzy image of a grinning man wearing a black cap and a pair of safety goggles. One of his hands was raised in an unmistakable Duo-gesture, and he could see the gold glint of a chain inside the collar of the t-shirt Duo was wearing, the navy blue one with L-2 HELLCATS silkscreened across the chest in fiery orange letters. Duo was a huge supporter of his favorite baseball team. A bit of his braid could be seen to one side of his neck.

"Okay, that's Duo," he agreed.

Wufei fast-forwarded a few seconds, to a point where the video feed became fuzzy with static. "This is not Duo. Look closely."

Unlike the first image, this one showed Duo face-on to the camera, wearing a cap, navy t-shirt and yellow safety goggles. On the surface, the face looked the same as the one in the previous image, but Wufei felt Quatre start in surprise and nodded in satisfaction. "You see the difference?"

"Yes, of course." Quatre's finger hovered over the image, pointing out anomalies. "His face is narrower across the cheekbones, his front teeth are longer, his eyes are a different shape...oh, there's that," Quatre said, pointing at something in the background. "That gate behind him, wasn't it open in the last picture?"

Wufei rewound to the previous image. He hadn't noticed it at first, but the gate in the high metal fence surrounding the salvage yard was wide open in the first picture and closed in the second. He screencapped the two images and set them in the upper right hand corner of the small monitor. "Now, some more..." he said as his fingers tapped the fast forward and rewind buttons with an uncanny speed and precision. He collected a dozen relatively clear images of 'Duo' along with the fuzzed-out images of the real Duo and stacked them side-by-side on the edges of the monitor.

"Oh no," Quatre whispered, leaning in close to examine the tiny pictures. "Why didn't I see it before?"

Wufei placed a reassuring hand on the blond's shoulder "You saw what you wanted to see, Quatre. You saw what you _expected_ to see."

He knew that Quatre saw the same things he did. The face in the crude disguise of a cap and safety glasses was similar to Duo's, but not the same. The background was a bit different. Even the color of the Colony lighting was subtly different. The clear yet moveless images of the man in front of them were clearly Duo Maxwell, but the moving and static-filled images were just as clearly someone else.

Wufei, feeling the shoulder beneath his hand beginning to go tense, spoke to his deputy in a low voice. "It seems the perpetrator had either a very close resemblance to Duo or had hired someone who was. I need to find that out. Duo may be in danger."

"Yes...I understand." Quatre cleared his throat and tensed his muscles in an effort to stop shaking. "But can we call him before we go to him?"

Wufei raised an eyebrow. "We could, but I thought Duo was used to your drop-in visits."

Quatre nodded. "He is, but I need to warn him. I think I recognize that face, and if I'm right, he's not safe."

TBC


	4. Interrogation

**Title:** Never Turn Your Back on the Sea (4?)  
**Section Title:** Interrogation  
**Author:** Alleyprowler  
**Pairings:** 3x4, 2xH and 1xR  
**Ratings/Warnings:** M for language, references to violence

* * *

Duo popped into view on the laptop screen, buttoning up a pressed dress shirt. "Hi, guys!"

"Hi, Duo," Quatre said, attempting to smile. The muscles in his cheeks felt stiff, as if they were protesting the false expression. He glanced over at Wufei and saw that he wasn't even bothering to conceal his tension.

Duo smiled back. "Something tells me this isn't a social call," he said while he fumbled for the last button at his collar.

"I wish it was," Wufei said with what sounded like genuine regret. "We just wanted to make sure you were well."

Now Duo looked positively alarmed. "What? Why wouldn't I be all right?"

"Duo, calm down," Quatre started.

Duo interrupted him. "No, hang on, you can't call me like this out of nowhere with Wufei heavily into cop mode, both of you looking like your dog just died, and jeez, Quat! What happened to your _face_?"

Oh, right. Since no one had commented on it, Quatre had all but forgotten that he looked like he'd been in a bar fight and lost badly. He reached up and self-consciously tried to hide that shadowy bruise that was forming on his left cheekbone. "I had an accident. Sort of. Actually, that's what we wanted to talk about..."

"When we come see you," Wufei cut in. "It's not the sort of thing I like to discuss on the phone."

Duo's face was set in a grim expression of worry. "I'm glad to see you guys anytime, you know that, but you've got me a little shaken up. Am I in some kind of trouble?"

"No, I think if there was going to be any trouble it would have happened by now," Quatre said, forcing his face into the smile he used with small children and hysterics. It was his 'all is well with the world and everything is just as it should be' smile, and Duo didn't buy it for a second.

"Oh, man, so there _is_ trouble." Duo raked his hands through his shaggy bangs.

Quatre hated not being able to explain. "Duo, we can be there in seven or eight hours, tops, and I'm pretty sure everything will be fine until then."

Duo didn't look convinced. He kept his voice pitched softly as he said, "Guys, I know you can't tell me much, but if there's anything I can do to keep Hilde safe, you'd let me know, wouldn't you?"

Wufei nodded firmly. "Of course we would. Look, it would be best if you just went about your normal routine till we arrive. Can you do that?"

Before Duo could answer, a husky female voice bellowed from somewhere out of video range: "DUO! WE'RE GOING TO BE LATE!"

Duo gave a genuine smile for the first time and called to his wife over his shoulder. "JUST A SEC, PEANUT! BE RIGHT THERE!" He turned back to his callers with an apologetic shrug. "It's Hilde's birthday, we were just about to go out to dinner with some of her friends. She wants to eat _lobster_, of all things." He shook his head in disbelief. "Why anyone would want to eat a giant insect is beyond me, but that's my Hilde-baby." He smiled sappily.

"DUO, _PLEASE_! I'M _HUNGRY_! I'M ABOUT TO _FAINT_ OVER HERE!"

Quatre chuckled. "I suppose we ought to let you go. We'll see you in about eight hours, okay?"

Duo checked his watch. "Sure, that'll be at about two o'clock in the morning, local time."

"Don't bother meeting us, we can let ourselves in," Wufei hastened to reassure him. Quatre had some doubts. Bypassing most residential security systems would be child's play for someone with their training, but Duo was one of them and probably had enough sensors, monitors and booby-traps on his property to make sure than nothing larger than a grasshopper could get through undetected. Or unscathed.

Duo's grin seemed to confirm that. "It's okay, I'll leave the kitchen door alarm off. You'll have to pick the deadbolt, just don't break anything. You're welcome to raid the fridge and flop on the couch and watch TV. Hilde and I will be up by seven o'clock or so. Deal?"

"Sounds fine to me," Quatre said. "And make sure Hunter is tied up nice and secure, okay? I'd hate to be licked to death in the middle of the night."

Duo threw back his head and laughed heartily. Quatre would have joined in the laughter if he hadn't been pretty sure it would aggravate his growing headache, but he allowed himself to chuckle a bit. "Will do, Quatre-my-man. See you then!" The transmission cut off.

Wufei frowned as he removed the camera from his laptop and began to pack everything away. "Who, or what, is Hunter?"

"Duo and Hilde's dog. Hilde's mostly." Quatre rummaged in his pockets for his aspirin bottle. The thumping in the back of his head was making him feel dizzy and nauseated. "He's a mix between a wolfhound, a St. Bernard, a Great Dane, and a small horse."

"In other words, a big, dumb mutt."

Quatre found his aspirin and swallowed three with the last of his juice. "Yes, but he's really friendly. He loves people, although he tends to slobber a lot."

"Figures," Wufei muttered under his breath.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing. Let's get back to the shuttle. It's probably not as posh as those flying hotels you're used to, but it's comfortable enough. You look like you need a nap."

Quatre cast a longing glance at the fireplace, sighed regretfully, and got up to follow Wufei out.

* * *

The Preventer's shuttle was, as promised, quite comfortable. Designed for long reconnaissance missions as well as for spatial economy, it featured two sleeping berths, a well-equipped work and recreation area with a videoscreen, a galley, and even a shower.

Quatre, hugging himself as he shivered inside his coat, walked back and forth inside the long, narrow cabin, examining nooks and crannies while Wufei spoke to the ground staff of the tiny airport.

"I don't believe it," Wufei said, throwing his headset aside in disgust.

"What's wrong?" Quatre asked, pausing in his investigation of a storage cupboard.

"They are delaying our takeoff clearance because there is a chartered craft full of schoolchildren due to arrive in twenty minutes. I told the idiot in the control tower that that was plenty of time to get out of his airspace and halfway out of the atmosphere, but he said that the pilot of the craft only has a hundred and ten hours of flying under his belt and control's not entirely certain that he has the ETA right. Or the flight path, for that matter. It's ludicrous!"

Quatre shuddered deeply, and not just because he felt chilly. "Ludicrous is right. Why would they let someone with so little experience fly a plane full of kids?"

Wufei, who had been stomping off in the direction of the head, stopped abruptly. "Oh. I didn't think of that." He turned back in Quatre's direction, eyes thoughtful. "I'm afraid I was only thinking of the delay." He gave his companion a rueful smile. "I tend to focus on the wrong things, sometimes."

"You're very goal-oriented," Quatre said diplomatically.

A snort. "You could say that. If you've finished prowling around like a cat, make yourself comfortable in one of the berths while I go wash my face." Wufei slipped the elastic from his hair and shook it loose as he walked into the head, presumably to preen, and Quatre found himself thinking that the woman who finally got through the famous Chang defenses was going to be lucky. Very lucky indeed.

The sleeping berths were little more than wide, padded benches with nylon webbing that could be secured over the sleeper to keep him more-or-less in place in zero gravity, but they seemed as luxurious as a feather bed to Quatre. He kicked off his shoes and stretched out fully-dressed on his back, sighing. His headache had died down to a dull, bearable throb, and the hot lunch he'd eaten was making him feel sleepy.

Quatre didn't realize he had been drifting off until he felt a slight breeze on his face and an even slighter weight settling over his body. His eyes popped open in alarm and he pulled himself up into a half-reclining position. "What the--oh. Thanks, Wufei."

Wufei was smirking. He plucked at the blanket he'd just thrown over Quatre, adjusting it slightly over his feet. "It's good to see your reflexes are still sharp."

"I never was a heavy sleeper. It's a good thing Trowa doesn't snore." Quatre added with a hint of slyness.

"Right." Wufei cleared his throat uncomfortably, but rallied and changed the subject. "Do you want some cider? It's instant, but it's hot and it's pretty good."

"Sounds wonderful."

Wufei made himself busy in the galley area while Quatre lay back and stared at the ceiling. For a long time, he'd thought that Wufei had objected to his and Trowa's relationship. Every time either one of them had made an even remotely sexual comment or showed the barest hint of physical affection, Wufei would react with embarrassment bordering on panic. It had made Quatre feel sad, but then he wasn't exactly a stranger to disapproval. He had just about resigned himself to acting like a monk in front of Wufei when he had noticed that _any_ mention of human intimacy brought about that same discomfort, and after an evening of careful prodding and strategic application of alcohol, Quatre had learned that Wufei was just as sexual as the next guy, but was horribly shy about it. "Gonna have to fix that," Quatre muttered sleepily to himself.

"What was that?"

Quatre blinked and noticed that Wufei was standing in front of him, holding out a paper cup of something that steamed. "Oh. I was thinking about the leaky faucet in the upstairs bathroom. We're going to have to fix it." He took a sip of cider to cover his smile. It was, as promised, hot and tasted crisply of apples and spices. He felt warmth spread through his body from his mouth to his chest to his frozen toes, and the scratchy blanket that Wufei had covered him with held the warmth in. "Mm, thank you, Wufei," he said, inhaling the fragrant steam.

"No problem. Do you need help strapping yourself in?"

Quatre snorted out an undignified laugh, just barely managing not to choke on his drink. "No, thanks, Wufei. You've been very kind, but if you tuck me in, I'll have a hysterical fit."

"Tuck you in? I--I--you--" Wufei spluttered and foamed before the control tower broke through on the general communications channel.

"Preventer shuttle, you are now cleared for takeoff."

Wufei snatched the paper cup from Quatre's hand, which was just as well since Quatre was laughing helplessly. "Fine. You just tuck yourself in, as you say. We'll be airborne in two minutes."

"Roger," Quatre snickered, throwing Wufei a mocking salute. He pulled the safety webbing into its secured position, tucked the blanket up under his chin, and let his exhausted body give in to its demands. He was asleep before they even left the ground.

* * *

A low but very insistent beeping noise roused Wufei from his comfortable sleep. He shook off his vague dream about a pink rain of cherry blossoms and a girl with a yellow parasol and rubbed his face. The beeping dopplered back and forth, and he recognized it as the alarm on his wristwatch. Wufei pushed in the stem to turn off the alarm, and looked at the local time. Good, he had thirty minutes to go.

After donning a fresh uniform, Wufei went to the galley and began to heat water for coffee. He had a feeling they were going to need it. Once that was done, he drifted back to the berth area and woke up Quatre.

He almost didn't. Quatre was breathing rapidly and shallowly in his sleep, and he seemed uneasy. Wufei brushed back the other man's collar and laid his fingers on Quatre's neck, noting with concern the rabbit-fast pulse beating there. Was he having a nightmare? Wufei rested his hand on Quatre's shoulder and jostled him gently.

The blond man batted Wufei's hand away and started coughing. "What?" he asked in a thick, sleepy voice when he'd gotten his breath back.

Since Quatre had woken immediately and seemed relatively alert, Wufei thought he was probably okay. "We'll be docking in half an hour or so. You should wake up."

"I'll take that under advisement," Quatre mumbled, and pulled the blanket up to his chin.

Something beeped from behind Wufei, and he remembered the hot water. He kicked himself gently off the deck and floated toward the galley, where a carafe of hot water waited for him. He carefully divided it between two drinking bulbs, added freeze-dried coffee crystals, and stirred. The brew looked muddy and unappetizing, but it contained caffeine in sufficient quantities to wake even the most reluctant sleeper.

"Coffee, Quatre," Wufei said, holding one of the bulbs under Quatre's nose. He sipped carefully from the other as he watched Quatre come to life.

"Coffee?"

"Yes, coffee." Wufei shook the bulb a bit, setting free more of the coffee's aroma.

A groping white hand emerged from the blanket, followed by an arm encased in a crumpled brown jacket sleeve. "Coffee."

Wufei settled the bulb into the hand. "How do you feel?"

Some slurping sounds emerged from beneath the blanket Quatre had hidden himself under as he drank. "Aspirin. Please."

"The bottle is in your jacket, stupid," Wufei reminded him, nudging him gently.

"Oh. Yeah."

"Preventer vehicle, prepare for docking!" blared the general communications line, making both men jump.

Quatre made an effort to untangle himself from the webbing that held him in place. "Where are we?" he asked.

"L2-2XH00G. Duo's colony. You rest. I need to dock us." Wufei patted Quatre's shoulder and launched himself toward the cockpit.

* * *

The docking jockeys on Duo's colony were quick and efficient, Quatre had to grant them that. It only took them fifteen minutes to get the shuttle safely stowed away, a fifteen minutes where Quatre gulped down more caffeine and aspirin, knocked back a shot of cough medicine, and tried to get his hair to settle into some semblance of order. He hoped he didn't look as rotten as he felt, and he hoped the coffee and medicine would revive him soon. If not, he was going to let Wufei arrest him.

Wufei came out of the cockpit looking sharp, neat and rested. Quatre envied him deeply. "There's more coffee if you want it," he said, gesturing at the nearly-empty bulb in Quatre's hand.

"Oh, is that what it is?" Quatre asked, gazing blearily at the sludge in the bottom.

"On this craft, everything is freeze-dried. I'll bet they'd freeze-dry the water if they could figure out how. Speaking of which, you might want to wait till we get to Duo's so you can have a real shower, but you can at least splash some water on your face and shave if you want...although your beard really is an interesting color."

Quatre rubbed the stubble on his jawline. Unlike the blond hair everywhere else on his body, his beard was an odd reddish-gold color, like fresh copper. He had occasionally considered letting it grow out just to see what it would look like, but he'd never gotten past the 'two-week itch' period. He wondered how men with beards could stand it. "I think I'll do that, and if you make me some more, er, coffee, I'll be forever in your debt. I'm not feeling particularly human this morning."

Wufei gave him a clap on the back that nearly sent him reeling across the cabin. "It's just your cold and spent adrenaline. Get your blood moving some and you'll feel much better."

Wufei was right. Quatre didn't exactly feel good by the time he had finished grooming himself, but he felt a little less like his brain had been turned into a sack of turnips. The second serving of coffee, awful though it was, helped too. "I'm ready if you are," he said as he exited the head.

Wufei, who had been packing his duffel bag again, raised his head and held out something light brown and dark blue; it looked vaguely familiar. "Put that on."

Taking it, Quatre realized it was one of Wufei's spare Preventer jackets. He slipped out of his own coat and put it on, noting that it was nice and warm but still lightweight. It fit perfectly too, since he and Wufei were almost exactly the same size--fortunate, since an ill-fitting uniform jacket would have looked awfully suspicious to the wrong people.

"And this," Wufei said, holding out a shoulder holster with his extra sidearm in it.

The jolt Quatre felt upon seeing the weapon wakened him far more quickly and efficiently than the coffee had. "Wufei, I can't."

Wufei's eyes held a flat, hard shine that meant he was all business. "You can. I know it's illegal as hell for a civilian to carry a firearm, let alone a concealed firearm, and if Une gets wind of it she will have my head on a platter, but you can."

Unbidden by its owner, Quatre's hand reached out and took the holster. He automatically checked the pistol, releasing the clip and making sure it was loaded and a round was chambered, then thumbed the safety on and slid it back into the holster. "I haven't fired a gun in years."

"And if luck is with us, you won't have to fire one ever again. Quatre," Wufei said with understanding, "I know you don't like it, but you have to look the part. It's just another piece of window-dressing, like the jacket."

"A prop," Quatre said, feeling a bit less numb.

"Yes, exactly. It's like a prop in a play. I'm not asking you to actually use it. The worst that'll happen is that you'll have to push your jacket back and show whomever we've come to see that you're armed."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

Once again, Quatre unholstered the weapon and slid out the clip. "Then I won't be needing this," he said, tossing it in Wufei's direction.

Wufei caught the tossed clip a bit clumsily, as if he hadn't been expecting Quatre to actually throw it away. "But, what if..."

"No, Wufei. I'm not a killer anymore. I build"

Wufei looked resigned, but not at all pleased. He pocketed the clip reluctantly. "Fine. Let's go."

* * *

Duo and Hilde's house looked like it had been grown rather than built.

It had started out as a tidy, cozy little two-bedroom bungalow, just perfect for a young newlywed couple, but soon after the two had moved in, the construction had begun.

In the first year, they had added two large rooms, one for Hilde's photography hobby and one for Duo's workshop. Then Duo had decided he needed another storage room, so that was added. In the second year, they had put in another bathroom, added a laundry room, and enlarged the kitchen. By the third year, they had moved on to the rest of the property, building a garage and a hothouse on their large (by Colony standards) lot.

When they felt the need to expand again, they could not grow outward due to space restrictions, so they had simply raised the original house, plus additions, up on scaffolding and added another story underneath. The last time Quatre had visited, the entire house had been in chaos as workers bustled in and out like ants in a disturbed hill, carrying in I-beams, rebar, and PVC pipe as they built a new game room with a wet bar, an office, a full bathroom and a miniature kitchen on what was now the ground floor.

Construction on the house seemed to have come to some sort of lull since then. The house was sided and painted, anyway, and there were no ankle-trapping piles of debris on the dark lawn. "They finished it," Quatre remarked, awestruck.

Duo had refused any offers of help from his construction company over the years, claiming that there were more than enough builders on L2-2XH00G and he wanted to help the local economy. Quatre understood and even approved, but he was still impressed by the fact that a bunch of unskilled laborers had done such a wonderful and professional job.

"Finished what?" Wufei asked.

"The house. I think it's finally finished."

"What do you mean--oh shit, what is that!"

Quatre took in a sharp, panicked breath and turned toward the source of Wufei's disturbance. He was in the middle of crouching into a defensive posture when a pony-sized animal barreled into him at top speed. "Ooof!" Quatre grunted as he was knocked onto his bottom.

"Stop or be shot!" Wufei shouted.

Quatre laughed as he felt a warm, wet, smelly tongue lap the side of his face. "Wufei, put the gun down. It's Hunter."

"What?"

"Hilde's dog," Quatre said rather breathlessly.

"Oh. Are you okay?" Wufei asked as he knelt down on the grass.

Quatre pulled his face away from the lapping tongue. "I think I have a new bruise on my behind, but yes, I'm okay. Hunter, down!"

The dog, panting excitedly, immediately sat down. Quatre, panting less excitedly, rose to his feet. Wufei holstered his gun. "We must have woken up half the colony," he remarked.

"No, Duo and Hilde sleep like rocks and I'm sure the neighbors have learned to sleep with earplugs by now."

Wufei gave him a sidelong glance, as if he wasn't sure whether Quatre had made a sexual comment or not, but he let it slide and followed the blond to a flight of stairs at the back of the house. These led up to a door that, as Duo had promised, had the alarm deactivated. They picked the deadbolt with a minimum of noise and entered a large, cluttered kitchen. "If you're hungry, Duo really meant it when he said you could raid the fridge," Quatre informed his companion, but he saw that Wufei wasn't interested in food at the moment. He was busy looking at the artwork on the walls.

"Amazing..." he breathed, staring transfixed at the framed and matted photographs. Most of them were black and white, a few were hand-tinted, and they were all exquisite.

"Yes, Hilde is very talented. Do you know she took all of these with a homemade camera?"

"I didn't know there was such a thing," Wufei said, never taking his eyes from the photos.

"Yeah, it's basically a cardboard box with some light-sensitive paper taped to the inside and a tiny little pinhole to let the light in. The technique is hundreds of years old." Quatre felt something nudge his hand and absently reached down to scratch Hunter's ears. For such a big animal, he was very quiet.

"I've heard of it," Wufei said, reaching up to brush his fingers almost reverently across a photo of some wildflowers, taken at ground level and tinted with delicate pinks and greens and yellows. "It's a difficult technique to master, I'd imagine."

"Very." Quatre interrupted himself with a yawn. "Excuse me, I'm going to go lie down for a while. I'm tired and my knee hurts."

"All right, go ahead," Wufei said absently, moving on to the next set of photos.

Patting his thigh to indicate that he wanted Hunter to follow him, Quatre made his way to the living room to find something to collapse on.

* * *

Wufei woke to the sound of giggles and whispers, which alarmed him at first, but his memory quickly supplied him with the relevant data. He was safe. There was no need to grab for the gun holstered at his side. He'd fallen asleep in a comfortable lounge chair at about five o'clock in the morning, after fixing himself a snack and taking a quick shower to help himself relax. He was sure Duo wouldn't mind.

The whispers and giggles started up again, and Wufei cracked an eye open to see what it was all about.

It was Duo and Hilde, and they had apparently just gotten out of bed since they were wearing pajamas. One pair of pajamas, to be precise; Duo wore the bottom and Hilde wore the top of the same set. They must have been Duo's since the hem of the shirt hit Hilde at about mid-thigh and she had needed to roll the cuffs up a few turns to have use of her hands. Wufei was glad of that. He didn't think he could stand to be flashed with feminine undergarments at this hour of the morning.

"Quiet, Peanut, these guys are really light sleepers," Duo whispered. His hair was braided, but so frazzled with sleep that it looked like a length of old hemp rope against his bare back.

"Can't help it," Hilde giggled. She had a cardboard box in her hands, and her short black hair stood up in weird spikes and corkscrews. Evidently she hadn't had time to groom herself either. "They're so _cute_!"

Wufei directed his attention to whatever she was looking at and barely suppressed a laugh in time.

Quatre had chosen a large, leather-covered sofa to curl up in, and apparently Hunter had chosen to sleep there too since the big grey dog was currently being used as Quatre's pillow. Quatre's right arm was slung chummily around the dog's neck as his head rested on Hunter's flank, and they were both snoring gently, apparently content with each other's company. A large cat of the orange tabby variety was sprawled out against Quatre's stomach, lying on its back with all four paws in the air and Quatre's left arm underneath it.

"Three...two...one...got it!" Hilde cried out in a stage whisper, holding her box aloft.

"Got what?" Wufei asked, sitting upright in his chair.

Hilde squeaked and whirled around, clutching the box to her chest. "Oh, hi Wufei. I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's all right. I should be up anyway, we have things to do." Wufei sat up, sweeping his loose hair back with both hands.

"What things?"

Wufei felt relieved. Apparently Duo had kept his mouth shut even to Hilde...but then again, they hadn't given him much information to begin with. "Sit down, both of you. We need to talk."

Duo threw himself down in an armchair, and Hilde climbed into his lap. "Should we wake up Blondie?" Duo asked.

Wufei looked at the sleeping man, considering it. "No, let him sleep. He isn't well."

The identical expressions of concern on the couple's faces would have been humorous under other conditions. "What's wrong with him?"

"He took an unexpected swim in the Pacific Ocean and caught a chill. It's nothing serious."

"Wait, what was he doing swimming in the Pacific Ocean? In February?"

Wufei got up from his chair and went to fetch his laptop, which he had left in the kitchen. Once he had retrieved it and found the recording, he sat down next to the couple and took a deep breath. "It began last Sunday, when Quatre received a call at his home..."

* * *

"Fuck." Duo's eyes had gone the color of storm clouds, which was never a good sign.

Hilde, on the other hand, looked like she had been slapped. Her blue eyes were wide and she was very pale. "But why? Why would he do something like that?"

"I don't know," said Wufei. "That's what we're here to find out."

"He's such a good kid, though, I-I just can't get my mind around it," Hilde stammered.

"What can you tell me about him?" Wufei asked.

For his wife's sake, Duo tried to tamp down some of his anger. "His name's Coe Ervy, but everyone calls him Blue 'cause he hardly ever dresses in any other color. He came to work for us almost a year ago. He said he knew about me, see, said he'd read some magazine article about the Gundam pilots or something, and he'd wanted to meet me. He said he was a war orphan and a street kid like me, and he looked up to me because I'd made something of myself...God, I can't believe I believed his bullshit!"

Hilde rested her head on his shoulder. "Honey, don't."

He hugged her tightly. "Sorry, Peanut."

Wufei continued, "So this Blue person, you went on to hire him?"

Holding Hilde seemed to be helping Duo stay calm. "Yeah, I hired him right after he graduated from school. Before that, he used to come by every afternoon and say hi, hang out with the guys, you know."

"He practically worshipped Duo," Hilde added. "He followed him around like a puppy. He got along well with me and the other guys, but you could tell that he wanted to _be_ Duo. He even started growing his hair out long so he could put it in a braid."

"Yeah, and I have to admit, I was kinda flattered by that," Duo said with a scowl that would have curdled milk. "So as soon as he got out of school, he left the group home he'd been living at and moved in here for about three months. He stayed in the guest room, worked doing whatever needed doing, and was generally a good kid. He kept his music down and his paws off the silver, anyway."

"Did he do anything that might have required a lot of money? Drugs? Gambling?"

Duo shook his head. "No, like I said, he seemed like a good kid. He drank a bit and sometimes he'd hang out with his old gang, but he stayed out of trouble."

"He liked flashy cars and expensive clothes," Hilde said. "He spent most of his money on clothes and shoes and things like that. I kept trying to tell him that he should save at least some of his money, but he just couldn't seem to hang on to a credit if there was something in the shops that caught his eye. He was always broke come payday."

Wufei peered at the couple through his fingers as he massaged his forehead. Something was bothering him. "If Ervy was spending all his money on clothes, then how did he manage to move out after living with your for only three months? I find that hard to believe."

"The whole story is hard to believe," said a new voice. Wufei, Hilde, and Duo turned to look over at the sofa, where Quatre was sitting up with Hunter's head on his knee. Wufei was a bit startled by the man's appearance. The blond hair hung in limp, slightly greasy strands around his face and his complexion was greyish with dark circles of fatigue under his eyes in spite of the rest he'd had. The bruise on his cheek had turned an ugly purple and seemed to be spreading. "There was never a magazine article about you, Duo," he said in a strange, hollow voice.

Duo looked at him with his brows drawn together. "How can you know that, Quat? There were plenty of stories about the Gundam pilots after the wars."

"Yes, but none of them named you specifically. And I assure you, there's been nothing in the media about your background. About _any_ of our backgrounds."

Wufei felt himself frown. "That information was never classified, Quatre."

Quatre smiled wanly. "No, not exactly classified, but certainly not available to the public. There's a certain grey area where information like that can lie low until the either the principals involved choose to reveal it or the statute of limitations runs out. And I can guarantee that the latter won't happen in our lifetimes."

A light began to dawn in Wufei's mind; a light that he simultaneously admired and resented. "You've somehow got us under media silence. How and why?"

Quatre's smile grew grim. "How? I happen to be acquainted with some very talented and persuasive lawyers. Why? Well, for every ten Colony citizens who might like to throw a parade in our honor, I'm sure there is one who would like to see us tried as war criminals. And maybe one in a hundred who might wish to take justice into his or her own hands. Not all of them were sympathetic to our ideals, remember?"

There was a horrible silence in the room as the four of them remembered. Hilde, who had once been an OZ officer and Wufei, who had once been part of Mariemeia's army, shot each other a glance that neither of them could sustain for long. The shared burden of guilt was just too great.

It was Duo who broke the silence. "Jesus, Quatre. I had no idea."

"Well, Wufei and I are the only ones who required any work to cover our roles in the war, and in my case, I was 'missing' for most of it. You, Heero, and Trowa don't have any public records to begin with, so hiding you was fairly easy. And Hilde," he smiled fondly at the young woman in Duo's arms, "as far as anyone is concerned, you were student working part-time as a waitress and not the brave warrior who risked her life to help destroy the Libra and save the earth."

"Hey!" Duo's cry was indignant, "You trying to sweet-talk my girl, Winner?"

"Shut up, Duo."

Wufei, who had been trying to digest the fact that he was, in the eyes of the public, anyway, a non-person during those turbulent years, suddenly remembered to look at his watch. It was 0815. "Duo, Hilde, what time are you supposed to be at work?"

Duo shrugged. "We usually get in around nine, nine-thirty. We don't officially open till ten o'clock, but our fliers like to get a head start. They have keys."

"Fliers?" Wufei asked.

"Yeah, the pilots who do scouting and the actual salvage work. Hilde and I mostly work Colonyside unless they need an extra pair of hands or two out there."

Quatre cleared his throat. "Hilde, you might want to go out with your fliers today. We need to talk to Coe."

At the mention of the name, Hilde's expression went from relaxed and pleased to coldly murderous. Her eyes went icy and her lips compressed into a hard, bloodless slit. "I think you're right, Quatre. If I catch sight of the little bastard, I don't think there'll be enough of him left to arrest."

Wufei was surprised at the ferocity of her tone, but both Duo and Quatre were regarding her with solemn admiration, as if they knew that she could make good on her violent threat with as much expertise and finesse as she showed in making her photographs. For all he knew, she could.

Duo kissed Hilde's bizarrely sleep-twisted hair. "You should go with Raoul and Mimi and check out that fragged RS we saw yesterday, but first, we need a shower." He stood up easily, still holding the petite woman in his arms. His blue eyes sought out Quatre's. "Quat, there's another shower downstairs you can use. No offence, but you look like you could use one."

"Thank you," Quatre said wearily, picking up his duffel and making his way to the staircase.

Duo watched with a slightly worried look on his face while Quatre limped slowly down the stairs and then looked to his other guest. "Wufei, you seem pretty clean, so I'm putting you on cooking duty." He grinned broadly and winked. "I know you can make a mean pot of oatmeal."

Wufei sniffed. "I'll show you cooking, Maxwell," he said, and strode off to the kitchen while the rest of the household went about their morning routines.

* * *

Quatre stared at himself in the full-length mirror, almost unable to recognize his own reflection. When he'd gotten out of the shower, he'd found a pile of folded clothing waiting for him on the counter by the sink.

The tan shirt and slacks were crisply starched, and the stark black tie hung down his front like an exclamation point. Disregarding the muddy, battered boots and the damp hair, he looked every inch a Preventers agent. Even his bruised face contributed to the image. He wasn't sure he liked it.

Consoling himself with the thought that it was only 'window-dressing', he slowly climbed the stairs and made his way to the kitchen, where the rest of the household had already congregated and was preparing to eat breakfast.

Hilde, now dressed in a lightweight sweater and black leggings, was hovering over the toaster while Duo, wearing a long-sleeved pullover, black jeans, and a towel twisted around his head like a turban, manned the coffee maker. Wufei had apparently commandeered the rest of the kitchen and was attending to a steaming saucepan, a deep-fryer, and a skillet all at once. His hands were a blur of motion.

Duo spotted Quatre first. "Hey! Look, it's Preventer Winner!" he said, and snapped a mocking salute.

Wufei looked the blond over with a critical eye. "There's a fingerprint on your tie clip," he said, and went back to work.

So there was. Quatre polished it off with his cuff. "I feel weird wearing this."

"Don't listen to those goofs, honey. You look great." Hilde left her station by the toaster and gave Quatre a proper hug hello, which made him smile. Then she broke the hug and held him at arms' length. "Say, how's that wonderful boyfriend of yours doing? Has he dug up any good reading material lately?"

Quatre's smile evolved into a broad grin. "I'm sure he'd have sent it your way if he had."

There was a low growl from Duo, who was busy setting plates and silverware on the kitchen table. "Dammit, Hilde, I swear you're getting addicted to that gay porn stuff."

Wufei nearly dropped his spatula. "Trowa sends you gay porn?"

She whirled around to face him, arms crossed over her chest and her nose in the air. "It's not _porn_, it's _erotica_," she declared in a lofty tone.

Wufei blinked. "The difference being?"

Duo answered for her. "Apparently, when it's written by a man, it's porn. When it's written by a woman, it's erotica."

Wufei turned back to whatever he was cooking. "Breakfast is ready," he said shortly.

* * *

The four were presented with a somewhat odd breakfast as Wufei set out deep-fried bread dough, steamed dumplings filled with shrimp and vegetables, and bowls of hot soup made from soy milk, while Duo and Hilde stuck with the more Western offerings of toast and coffee. Quatre looked at the spread blearily as they began to discuss strategy.

"I think I should go in first," Duo said as he buttered his dumplings. "I think you two will scare him off." He pointed his knife at Wufei and Quatre in turns.

Hilde was quite clearly not going to be involved in this, as she was obviously in a state over Blue's betrayal. Her threats of grievous bodily harm were very real, and she certainly had the means to carry them out. She stared silently into her coffee cup while Duo sketched out a map of the scrapyard for Wufei.

Quatre, having little interest in breakfast himself, placed a gentle hand on her arm. "Hilde? What's wrong?"

She picked the napkin up from her lap and began to shred it. Her voice was cold as ice. "I liked him, Quatre, I really did. The minute Duo brought him home for dinner the first time, I knew I wanted him to work for us. He said I cooked the best potatoes he'd ever eaten, and he was so energetic, so charming...dammit! Here I thought I was such a good judge of character!"

"It's okay, Hilde. You couldn't have known."

She dropped the shreds of her napkin and began to mangle her toast viciously. "I know that, but I can't stop feeling angry about it. I feel so..._used_."

"Perfectly understandable," Quatre said, feeling the tense muscles in her arm flex as she throttled her breakfast. "Maybe you'd feel better if you took a walk or something."

She nodded curtly. "Good idea. Guys, I'm taking off for a few minutes," she announced to the table in general, then she took a deep breath and bellowed, "HUNTER!"

The dog immediately galloped into the room, toenails clicking on the tile, and skidded to a halt in front of his mistress, panting excitedly. If he was picking up on any of Hilde's rage, he certainly wasn't showing it, but dogs can be discreet that way.

"Don't go too far, babe," Duo said, looking up from his map, and she nodded, waved, and dashed out the door. Quatre badly wanted to follow her, but instead, he scooted his chair a little closer to the head of the table and tried to make sense of the hastily-drawn map.

It took him a moment to get a sense of the layout of the scrapyard, which seemed to be different from the way he remembered it on his last visit, but he quickly located the building he wanted. "Duo, is this still your long-term storage bay?" he asked, putting a finger on a medium-sized building near the scrapyard's front entrance.

Duo nodded. "Yeah. Building 2D."

"If I remember correctly, this building has only one door, no windows, and mostly contains packing crates and other shipping materials. Has it changed?"

"Nope. One door, four skylights, no windows, and it's still full of shipping stuff."

Wufei frowned. "What are you getting at, Quatre?" he asked, and was immediately smacked on the arm.

"Hush, let him think," Duo hissed in an undertone.

But Quatre was already finished thinking. He smiled, feeling better than he had for days, and tapped his finger on the square representing Building 2D. "This is where we make our stand."

TBC


	5. Answers

**Title:** Never Turn Your Back on the Sea (5?)  
**Section Title:** Answers  
**Author:** Alleyprowler  
**Pairings:** 3x4, 2xH and 1xR  
**Ratings/Warnings:** M for language, references to violence

* * *

Personal vehicles on Colonies were rare, not because they were particularly expensive, but because they weren't needed. Each residential Colony was constructed like a four-spoked wheel with an axle driven through it, a wheel whose rim was, on standard Colonies, two kilometers wide and seventy kilometers in the inner circumference. The two cruciform passageways that divided the wheel into quarters were twenty-two kilometers long, and the axle of the wheel was ten kilometers longer than that.

The longest distance anyone would have to travel on a colony, therefore, was forty-five kilometers, which took a maximum of fifteen minutes at peak hours. High-speed transports ran around the circumference of the wheel in both directions, at five-minute intervals. Similar transports served the spokes and axle, while somewhat slower vehicles veered off the trunk line and took travelers to the outer perimeters if they didn't want to walk the rest of the way.

And since this was all cheap, easy, and speedy, hardly anyone bothered with the expense of owning a personal vehicle.

Duo and Hilde owned two. One of the vehicles was a sleek little three-wheeled runabout with an eight-hour battery, and it was really more cute than practical. The other was the essence of practicality: a monstrous eighteen-wheel ethanol-fueled flatbed truck with a cab wide enough to seat four people, as long as they were slender and pretty friendly with each other. Even so, Wufei found himself jammed thigh-to-thigh with Quatre on his right while he tried to give Hilde sufficient space on his left. He didn't know if Duo's jealous streak extended to friends or not, and he didn't want to risk finding out.

Duo and Hilde were conversing in low tones; business-trip stuff, from the few words that Wufei could catch over the untuned grumble of the truck's engine. Both seemed subdued and Wufei felt badly for them. From what he could gather, Blue had been more than a friend to them; he'd been like family. He was glad that at least Hilde would be spared further sight of the boy.

On his other side, Quatre was also unusually remote, but that was because he was obviously feeling rotten. His injured knee and elbow seemed to be bothering him judging by the way he favored those joints when he moved, and he'd been coughing awfully hard earlier. "Quatre, you're not feeling worse, are you?" he asked over the low mechanical rumbling.

Quatre didn't look at him, only stared ahead with slightly glazed eyes. "No, I'm just tired."

He was lying. All of Wufei's instincts said so. He was tactful enough not to call Quatre on it, but he still didn't want him in the way if he wasn't operating at a hundred percent. "If you're tired, then I can deputize Duo instead. Just switch jackets with him and give him your gun."

At that, Quatre turned to face him. As the truck took a turn, a ray of simulated sunlight bounced off the rearview mirror and struck him across the face, making his green-tinted blue irises actually glow for a moment against the bloodshot whites of his eyes. The effect was startling. "Wufei, I think it would be unwise to let Duo handle a firearm in this situation."

"That gun isn't loaded," he pointed out.

"There's no such thing as an unloaded gun. Didn't they teach you that in basic training?"

Wufei was about to reply when he felt a gentle poke from his left. He turned his head to see that Hilde had finished her conversation with her husband and was looking at him solemnly. At her gesture, he bent down so that she could whisper in his ear, "I overheard something about guns...and Duo. I don't think that's such a good idea."

Apparently, Wufei thought wryly, he was being outvoted on an issue that hadn't even made it to the ballot. "Don't worry," he whispered back, "I have the only working firearm here. Hopefully I won't have to use it."

She stared into his eyes for a moment. "But if you do, Wufei, please be merciful."

In reply, Wufei simply covered her small hand with his and squeezed it gently.

* * *

The offices and workshops of the Colonyside part of Sweepers III were located behind a tall security fence with a gate that rolled laboriously aside when Duo pressed a button on the truck's dashboard. He eased the monstrous thing in carefully, then drove down an avenue lined with a mismatched collection of buildings, some of which were as large as aircraft hangars, and some no bigger than potting sheds. Contamination control units, gas wet scrubbers and HEPA filters were attached to most of the larger buildings, and parked in the spaces between them were brand new skid steers and crawler dozers for moving heavy loads. "You've expanded," Quatre said, looking out the window.

"We had to when two other outfits went bust due to environmental regs," Duo explained. "So we negotiated for their contracts, picked up a few of their employees, and bought up the lot next door."

Hilde cleared her throat rather loudly. "_Excuse_ me? What's this 'we' business?"

Duo snickered, looking a little embarrassed. "Okay, _Hilde_ did all the negotiating and hiring and lot-buying, but I, uh...I re-painted our sign. Hey, there's Raoul and Mimi." Duo steered the truck toward a neatly-kept little building that looked like it might serve as office space. A middle-aged and somewhat rotund man was standing outside the door smoking a cigarette and talking to a short, grey-haired woman. Both of them were wearing flight suits. The man looked up and waved when he saw the truck.

"Heya, boss!" he called out.

"Hi Raoul!" Duo said, waving back.

The man snorted. "Wasn't talking to you."

Hilde slid into Duo's lap so she could speak to the couple out of the driver's side window. "Morning Raoul, Mimi. I'll be right with you, okay?"

"No hurry, boss." The grey-haired woman said cheerfully, and went into the building with Raoul right behind her.

Duo gave his friends a long-suffering look. "You see how I get treated around here? No respect, man, no respect at all."

"Oh, shush, they all love you and you know it," Hilde said, and she kissed him warmly before he could reply.

Wufei looked away, but Quatre grinned at the sight, heartened by the display of affection.

When the kiss broke, Duo was grinning as well. Hilde turned her attention to Wufei and Quatre, her expression once again solemn. "You guys stay safe. Don't play hero."

"Yes, ma'am," Quatre said. Beside him, Wufei nodded respectfully.

Apparently satisfied, Hilde kissed her husband one more time, then opened the door and jumped out of the truck.

Duo watched her jog into the neat little building and then wrestled the truck's transmission lever into reverse. "Right. Let's go."

* * *

"Tell me again why you chose this building?" Wufei asked, stacking an empty packing crate on top of a box containing portable laser torches.

"The layout and the acoustics," Quatre said curtly. He was out of breath, even though Wufei was doing most of the actual work. "We need to make a U-shape here." He pointed to a spot roughly in the center of the building and at a right angle to the only doorway.

Wufei wheeled the box to the spot Quatre had indicated. "Wouldn't another building do just as well?"

"No, the ones that only have one door are too small, and the larger ones have too many escape routes. This is the only building with enough space, no windows, metal siding, and adequate light."

Wufei paused in the act of pushing another crate into place. "I'm sure you have a very well-thought-out plan in that weird brain of yours, but I fail to see what any of those things have to do with each other."

"Well, we need enough space so that you and I can hide for a while," Quatre said as he picked up a box. "And we need some room to maneuver. We want to build a cul-de-sac that we can work in so that Mr. Ervy doesn't have anywhere to run to, and we need to have..." Quatre stopped short, whooped in a breath, and began to cough convulsively. He dropped the box he'd been carrying and cupped his hands over his mouth.

Alarmed, Wufei went to him, but Quatre merely motioned him away as coughed. The coughing abruptly rose in pitch and Wufei backed up a few steps, worried that it was a signal for impending vomiting.

It wasn't. Quatre wiped his mouth and choked to a halt. "Ugh. Sorry about that," he said weakly. He plopped down on the crate he'd been carrying as if his knees had just come unhinged.

"You're ill," Wufei said.

"I'm just tired. I'll be fine."

Approaching, Wufei noticed that Quatre was still trying to catch his breath. He filed away the information for later use and, cupping Quatre's chin in his hand, forced the other man to look up. "You don't look good," he said after a moment of study, feeling the sick heat that radiated from Quatre's skin. His complexion was greyish and waxy.

"I'm okay, I just need to rest for a while," Quatre said. He sounded breathless.

"No, you're..." Wufei heard voices, one of which was definitely Duo's. "Oh shit, they're here."

"I have the laptop. I'll replay and record," Quatre said in a grating whisper, sliding soundlessly behind a stack of boxes.

"Good." Wufei moved swiftly to the other side of the cul-de-sac and lowered himself between two huge spools of carbon-fiber rope, making sure that he had a clear line of sight into the trap. The voices came closer, and he unsnapped the safety strap of his holster to free his pistol. "Be ready," he whispered.

"Am."

The door slammed open, and Wufei could hear the two voices clearly.

"What's in here, Duo? I thought this was just where the fliers stored their gear."

Wufei classified the voice as belonging to a young man, probably of L2 origin, judging by the accent.

"Oh, some stuff that might interest you."

Wufei recognized Duo's voice and lowered his hand to touch the butt of his sidearm. He hoped that Quatre was recording this on the laptop.

"But I've never been on a flier mission before...hey, this isn't a promotion, is it?"

The young man's voice sounded pathetically hopeful.

Duo chuckled. "Sorry, kid, but I just wanted you to listen to something." His voice went abruptly from low and conversational to loud and ringing as he called out, "Hit it, Quat!"

Wufei silently unholstered his pistol.

There was a pause, and then Wufei heard Quatre's amplified and recorded voice say: "You want me to go to the San Juan Islands? What's there?"

Trowa's voice: "Nothing but nature preserves and tourist traps, as far as I know."

Duo's voice: "Nature preserves, tourist traps, and the Bell Point Historical Society. I dunno about the first two, but the last one just declared bankruptcy and is trying to sell off some junk to get out of debt."

Quatre's voice: "Wh-what sort of junk?"

Duo's voice: "Uh...looks like some books, lots of old prints, antique furniture, twenty ingots of refined neo-titanium..."

Quatre's voice: "Oh, I see. It sounds like they could sell it to a museum, which would solve...Excuse me, did you say twenty ingots of refined neo-titanium?"

There was a pause as the recording was fast-forwarded, and then Wufei heard Duo's voice saying: "Twenty thousand was the initial asking price, but I talked 'em down to fifteen."

Quatre's voice: "Duo...that's less than half the normal price. How did you do that?"

Duo's voice: "What can I say? I'm good!"

Another pause ensued before Quatre's voice said: "Where do I send the money and what is the pickup location?"

The account number and the pickup coordinates bounced off the metal walls nicely, allowing a very clear record of the numbers. Wufei heard a moan.

"Oh...shit...you recorded it?" The young man's voice was very weak and shaky, almost close to tears.

Wufei grinned and stood up from his crouch. That was as neat a confession as he could have hoped for.

"I believe the term is 'busted', Mr. Ervy," he said, strolling into the main corridor. He heard footsteps as Quatre moved to stand beside him, effectively blocking the exit.

Duo was standing at the end of the cul-de-sac, holding a young, brown-haired man up by the collar. The boy was as limp as a kitten being carried by its mother, and he whimpered a little as Duo shook him. "So you know about this recording, huh?"

"Yeah, I..." Blue finally looked up. He gasped, staring goggle-eyed at Quatre. "You're...you're not dead!" He tore free from Duo's grasp and rushed at the blond, who took a quick step backward. Wufei flung his fist out instinctively to stop him, catching the boy squarely on the nose. Blue dropped to the floor with a howl of pain and surprise.

"Why would he be dead, Blue?" Duo asked in an icy tone, looming over the boy on the ground.

The boy's voice was muffled as he spoke from behind his hands. "I-I don't know. I don't want him to be dead, I didn't want to kill anyone, but..."

"But what?"

The boy's eyes shifted around the room nervously, checking each of their faces in turn. He was almost hyperventilating and seemed to be too frightened to speak.

"Blue," Quatre said in a low, reasonable tone, "the law rewards cooperation with leniency. You've already confessed that you had a hand in a very serious crime, and your case might sound better if it was known that you tried to work with us."

Blue's heavy breathing evened out, and he gulped. "What...what do you want to hear?" he asked, his eyes still fixed beseechingly on Quatre.

"Just the truth."

"It wasn't my idea," Blue said, sounding miserable. "I just did what I was told to do."

"Yes, I thought so," Quatre said calmly.

"But I can't tell you who it is, or he'll have me killed. He's done it before! Killed, I mean."

"I'm sure he has."

"I don't want to die, I just want a better life!"

"As we all do."

Wufei stepped forward, not bothering to display his gun. The boy seemed to be terrified enough. "Blue, did you make that phone call to Mr. Winner?"

"Y-yes. Sort of. I helped."

"How did you help?"

"I look like Duo--I mean, Mr. Maxwell--so I pretended to be him. I dressed up, and I tried to act like him. And he gave me a thing to change my voice. He let me keep it; it's in my pocket if you want it."

"Perhaps later." Wufei looked at the boy, scrutinizing him with sharp eyes. He did bear an almost familial resemblance to Duo. His ponytailed hair was thick and long, and the same rich brown as Duo's. His eyes were large and wide and blue, a shade lighter than Duo's but close enough to pass casual inspection. His face was broad across the cheekbones and he had the same wide, mobile mouth. They could have been brothers.

"Who is 'him', Blue?" Quatre asked, apparently trying to catch him off guard.

The boy shook his head vehemently and drops of blood flew from his injured nose. "Oh, no, I can't tell you that."

"Why not?" Duo demanded.

"I just can't!"

Duo growled with rage. He shook a long, curved, wicked-looking blade from his sleeve and pressed its tip to Blue's jugular vein. "You..." he hissed between clenched teeth. "You...you'd better start talking soon or you are _so_ fucking dead."

The young man on the floor let out a strangled noise of sheer terror and shrank away from Duo. Blood continued to flow sluggishly out of his nostrils from where Wufei had hit him earlier and he wasn't even trying to wipe it away; he didn't seem to dare to move. "M-Mister Maxwell," he started to say, but the sentence died in his mouth as Duo hovered over him threateningly. Wufei shifted his position slightly to get a clear line of fire, should it come to that. Although the boy seemed incapacitated by fear, Wufei that panicked people sometimes became as dangerously unpredictable as a cornered rat.

"Don't you Mr. Maxwell me, you little shit. You betrayed me. I took you in when you had nowhere to go. I gave you a job. I gave you your goddamn life, and this is how you repay me? By sabotaging my business and trying to kill one of my friends?" Duo's voice had started out quiet, but as he listed the man's sins against him he lost control and at the end, he was nearly shouting. "You have five seconds to tell me why I shouldn't kill you!"

Blue gulped in a breath. "I needed the money real bad," he said, and he might have said more but Duo was not in a listening mood.

"THAT ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH!" he bellowed in a voice that rang off the metallic walls like judgment trumpets. His friends stared at him, stunned. Duo seemed to have actually grown into his rage, and he positively towered over the cowering man on the floor.

"B-but Mr. Maxwell, you don't know what it's like to be poor!"

Wufei winced and Quatre looked away; they knew what was coming.

"I know _exactly_ what it's like to be poor." Duo said in a whisper that reminded Wufei somehow of snakes. "I know what it's like to be hungry and alone and to never know where I was going to sleep at night, but _somehow _I managed to get by without betraying my friends and trying to kill people." The bitter sarcasm in Duo's voice seemed to frighten Blue more than anything else. "Say your prayers, you twisted little fuck, I'm sending you to hell."

Concerned that Duo might actually make good on his threat, Wufei took a step forward. "All right, Duo," he said in calm, even tones. "You've scared him enough. Put the knife down."

Duo whipped around to glare at Wufei. "What? You don't think I'm going to let this son of a bitch live, do you?"

Quatre walked up to Duo and put a hand on his shoulder, never lifting his gaze from the pathetic figure on the floor. "You have to let him live," he said softly.

"Quatre!" Duo looked at him with what might have been sorrow in his eyes. "This guy almost got you killed! Now is not the time to do the mercy act!"

Quatre shook his head. "No, you don't understand. Letting him live is not an act of mercy. Think about it, Duo. If you kill him, his suffering is over. If you let him live, he goes to Bone Island for the rest of his life." Quatre took a few steps toward Blue and then crouched down so that they were nearly eye-to-eye, favoring his swollen knee. He began to speak in a low, almost hypnotic voice. "Blue, I'm sure you've heard of Bone Island before, haven't you?"

Blue nodded. "Yeah. It's, uh, some kind of penal colony, isn't it?"

"Yes, you could call it that. It's actually a small island in the Atlantic Ocean, near Africa. It's quite close to the equator. I'm told that the average temperature there is around 45 degrees. That's uncomfortably warm, wouldn't you say?"

Blue nodded again, mutely.

"And as the name implies, it's barren there. It's composed of volcanic rock, and nothing grows on rock. There are no shelters there either because of the difficulty in building anything on bare, jagged rock. The only source of fresh water on Bone Island, Blue, comes from a single small desalinization plant on the north side of the island. It produces approximately twenty liters of water a day for a population of thirty people...that is, when it's working at all. I'm afraid it isn't very well maintained. Do you know what happens to people who are sentenced to live on Bone Island?"

Blue shook his head feebly. It was obvious to anyone watching that he didn't particularly want to know, but Quatre's mesmerizing tone of voice was impossible to ignore.

"Well, the first thing that happens is that they become very, very thirsty. It would be hard not to become thirsty with the sun beating down on your head like that all day. I should know, I grew up in the desert. When you get that thirsty, Blue, the membranes in your mouth, throat and nose dry up, and it gets difficult to breathe. Your tongue begins to swell. Your eyes sink into their sockets. Imagine it--here you are on an island surrounded by water and you feel you might be dying of thirst. It's rather ironic, don't you agree? You might be tempted to drink the seawater, but that's a very bad idea. The salt only draws more water out of your cells and dehydrates you more severely."

Quatre broke into another coughing fit, but he hadn't lost his audience -- Blue's dilated eyes were locked onto him, unblinking. Quatre wiped his mouth and continued.

"I don't know if you've ever been to Earth, but the light of the sun there is nothing like the lighting in the Colonies. It burns, Blue. It burns your skin if you have nothing to protect you from it. You have fair skin, like me, and I'd judge that you'd be turning red in about fifteen minutes' worth of exposure. In an hour, you'd feel it begin to sting and tighten. In a day, you'd have blisters that break open and weep yet more fluids out of your body. You could always go into the water, but salt water is corrosive. Have you ever gotten salt into a cut? Imagine that sensation over every part of exposed, sunburned skin on your body and you'll quickly realize that hiding from the sun in the ocean is probably not a good way to cope with the problem. Sunburn can be very serious, Blue. It can make you more dehydrated, probably feverish, and it will make you crave water worse than ever. But then, there's always the desalinization unit, isn't there?

"In any society, however large or small, there's always some form of hierarchy among its members. On top, there are a small number of elite, powerful people who enjoy a relatively comfortable living, and on the bottom there are a number of weaker souls who fare worse than those above them. It's unfortunate, but that's the way it has always been. Bone Island is no exception, Blue. The desalinization unit is guarded by those on top of the hierarchy. They own it, you could say. They also get the lion's share of what it produces, and since there is no system of checks and balances on this island, you can only get what the elite feel that you deserve. If they feel you deserve to live, they might give you a liter a day. If they don't, then...well, let's just say that death by dehydration isn't a very pleasant way to go. Your nose begins to bleed as your mucus membranes dry out, causing you to lose even more fluid. Your intestines will dry out too, causing muscle cramping as your electrolytes become imbalanced. You'll start vomiting uncontrollably. Your brain will eventually start to shrink, and you'll experience seizures and loss of body functions. After that, the process is irreversible and the symptoms become quite nasty. Shall I go on?" Quatre asked pleasantly.

The boy whimpered, shaking his head rapidly. Tears splashed down his cheeks and his shoulders trembled.

Quatre started to smile, not at all nicely. "Don't look so scared, Blue. You might survive quite well there. You have a bargaining chip, you see."

"Wh-what's that?" Blue asked with forlorn hope in his eyes.

Quatre reached out and stroked the boy's cheek slowly with a single finger. "You're young, Blue, and you're quite handsome. Almost _pretty_, one might say. Young, _pretty_ boys can almost always negotiate for what they want. Do you know what I mean?"

"No." But the way the young man's eyes were showing whites all around let Wufei know that Ervy had at least some idea of what Quatre was getting at. He felt a weird mixture of admiration and distaste toward his friend. Sometimes Quatre was a little _too_ good at manipulation.

"I mean, Blue, that once in a while a man's baser urges can get the better of him," said Quatre in a near-whisper. "Especially when it comes to establishing dominance." He leaned closer until he was almost nose-to-nose with the cowering boy. "If you haven't figured it out by now, I mean _sex_, Blue. Sex of the lowest, most degrading type. Sex that you can't say no to. Painful, humiliating, shameful...oh dear. I seem to have frightened you." Quatre sat back on his heels and stared pointedly at Blue's crotch, where a dark stain was spreading rapidly.

Wufei thought that if Quatre ever wanted to switch careers, the Preventers would snap him up in an instant. His interrogation techniques were quite effective. "Do you feel like talking now, Mr. Ervy?" he asked, failing to keep the contempt out of his voice. Of course, he wasn't trying particularly hard.

The boy jerked his gaze away from Quatre as if a spell had been broken. "Yes, s-sir," he croaked out. "Wh-what do you want to know?"

Wufei crouched down on one knee to meet the boy eye to eye. "You may call me Agent Chang. The first thing I would like to know is, who is the man who recorded your image?"

Two fat tears leaked out of Blue's eyes and rolled down his pale cheeks. "He'll kill me if he finds out..."

"Cooperation, Mr. Ervy, can grant you safety," Wufei said in a matter-of-fact tone. "On the other hand, if you refuse to help us...well, you've heard Deputy-Agent Winner's description of what might happen to you."

Blue swallowed audibly. He glanced toward Duo, then to Quatre, but apparently he found no comfort there, so he looked back at Wufei. "Yates. It was Raleigh Yates."

"Son of a BITCH!" Duo shouted.

Blue squeezed his eyes closed. "I'm sorry, Duo, Mr. Maxwell, but he gave me ten thousand credits outright..."

Wufei, sensing trouble, stood up and pulled Duo a few steps away from the boy. "Quatre, watch him. Duo, focus. Who is this Yates person?"

Duo's face was twisted into an ugly expression of hate, but his tone was rational. "Raleigh Yates heads another scavenging operation called Green Earth Reclaim. He's been trying to establish a monopoly in this quadrant for years, but the spacehuggers keep busting him."

"The what?"

Duo huffed impatiently. "Spacehuggers. The environmentalists. You know, the guys who want to keep toxic chemicals and shit away from human-inhabited space."

"I wasn't aware that such a group existed," Wufei confessed.

"I'm not surprised," Duo said with a humorless laugh. "You're stationed on Earth most of the time, where it's not such a big deal if someone decides to dump a few liters of heavy metals into the sewers. But the ecosystems of the Colonies are so small and fragile that there's a bad air warning if enough people have beans for lunch on any given day. A major dump of cadmium or lead into the systems would be devastating, so us scroungers are required by law to pack up all our toxic crap and send it off to the sun in sealed resource disposal blocks."

Wufei nodded, beginning to understand. "I gather that Yates didn't abide by this law?"

Duo shook his head. "No, which is why he's got the most profitable salvage operation in space. Those disposal blocks are _expensive_. Expensive like you wouldn't believe. Half of my cash flow goes into separating the good stuff from the bad and sending the bad stuff into the sun. If I bypassed that law myself, I'd have more cash than Winner here." He smiled and nodded at Quatre, who was still crouched on the floor with his pistol trained on a sniffling Blue.

"So Yates is dumping toxic waste?"

"Well, I don't have any proof, as such," Duo said, "But most of us salvagers stay in touch and keep up with the news. Green Earth Reclaim is the only outfit that doesn't go to the meetings, so we kinda suspected they've been behind all the illegal dumping going on Earthside. He doesn't order nearly as many resource disposal blocks as he should for an outfit that size, which is pretty weird. That, and Yates has been making pretty large offers to some of the Colonyside salvaging companies. Including mine." Duo frowned darkly at the blue-clad boy on the floor.

"What kind of offers?"

"Multi-million credit offers," Quatre said. He chuckled humorlessly. "I remember the name R. P. Yates now. He tried to donate quite a large sum to some political action committee that advocated enormous funding cuts to the Earthside environmental controllers. The committee were trying to cut all the funding to a project that would ban all toxic dumping in public areas and force the companies that produced toxic chemicals to send their by-products into the sun." He shifted his attention back to Blue. "Do you see what kind of man you're working for? A man who thinks nothing of poisoning the Earth as long as it gives him a bigger profit margin."

"I didn't know that," Blue said, lips trembling and eyes still streaming tears.

"I suppose you didn't. People do tend to go mysteriously deaf when you wave large amounts of money in their faces," Quatre said dryly.

Duo seemed a bit calmer; or at least, more in control of himself, which was a different thing altogether. "But why attack Winner?" he asked.

"Dunno," Blue said, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "But he's your biggest client, isn't he? Mr. Yates was awful mad that you wouldn't sell your business to him, and he kept saying he'd get it one way or another."

Duo spat on the ground in sheer disgust. "Shit." He turned on his heel and looked at Wufei with an odd grin on his face. "Hey Wufei, do you feel up to gaining another deputy?"

It was the logical thing to do. Duo was now involved in the crime anyway, and he had a right to see it through to the end. Wufei felt himself start to smile. "Sure, why not?"

"I suppose it's too much to ask for a cool jacket and a pistol," Duo started.

"Yes, it is," Wufei cut in.

"Can I at least put the cuffs on that little asshole?"

Wufei, grinning, reached inside his jacket and took out a pair of standard-issue wrist cuffs. "Be my guest."

* * *

At the mention of the cuffs, Blue sobbed out loud. "You've been very cooperative, Blue," Quatre said by way of comfort. "We all appreciate it."

The boy looked at him with wet, beseeching eyes. "I'm really glad you're not dead, Mr. Agent Winner. Really."

"I'll just bet you're glad he's alive. If he'd died, you'd have been next," Duo snarled. He had the shining nickel-plated steel cuffs clutched in one fist and was re-sheathing his knife with the other. "Roll over on your belly, hands behind your back."

Blue gave Quatre a pleading look, but Quatre merely nodded at him. It really was in his best interests to comply. He hoped the boy could prevent himself from panicking until he was secured.

Unfortunately, Duo chose to straddle the prone figure and sit down on his thighs while he applied the cuffs, which sent the boy into full freakout mode. He began to buck and kick and flail his arms while emitting a piercing shriek that went right through Quatre's head and made him want to clap his hand over his ears. "Hold still, you little monster!" Duo shouted, grabbing at one thrashing arm. He caught it and pinned it beneath his knee, then grabbed the other and snapped the cuff around the boy's bony wrist. "I'm gonna let go of your other arm now," said Duo, "and you're gonna cooperate with me. Right?"

The word 'cooperate' seemed to work some kind of magic on Blue, and he stilled. His scratched and dirtied face turned toward Quatre, who nodded at him solemnly. "You've got nothing to gain by resisting us, Blue. I suggest you work with Mr. Maxwell. He's an honorable man and won't hurt you any more than is necessary...as long as you don't fight him."

Blue assented with a whimper and allowed Duo to handcuff him without further protests. Quatre watched as Wufei and Duo hauled him to his feet. They boy's legs were shaky.

Quatre laboriously rose to his feet, swaying a bit when a wave of lightheadedness hit him. Someone grabbed his elbow.

"You okay, Quat?" Duo asked, keeping his voice pitched low. Wufei was advising Blue of his rights as a subject of the EarthSphere Unified Nation.

Quatre didn't want to lie to him, but he didn't think telling the truth would be very productive. "I'm tired. When all this is over, I want to go home and sleep for about a week."

Duo chuckled. "We'll try and make this quick, then. If I'm right, Yates is such a dirty dog that he'll hang himself with five minutes of questioning."

"Good," Quatre said, coughing. A thought struck him. "Duo, did you recognize the account number in the recording?"

"The prefix was for the First Fleet, the biggest commercial bank in this cluster. It's the bank I use for the business, but that was definitely not my account."

"Could it belong to Yates?"

"It could belong to Green Earth Reclaim, but that doesn't mean anything. Most businesses around here use that bank because it's based on old Swiss privacy and security laws. It's pretty much hack-proof, if that's what you're thinking."

Quatre smiled, noting that Wufei was just about finished with his prisoner's rights. "But we don't have to hack it, do we? We have the account number."

Duo looked skeptical. "Yeah, but we don't have a passcode, and you're required by the rules to change it at least once every six months. If we enter the account number and screw up the passcode three times in a row, then all kinds of security starts kicking in, beginning with the account closing down for twenty-four hours and the computer being traced."

Quatre had expected that since his own bank operated on the same principles, aside from the passcode rule. "We'll just have to make our three tries worth it, then."

"What are you--"

"YES! Yes, I understand you!" The panicked, hysterical voice belonged to Blue, and all eyes turned to him in surprise. He was kneeling in front of Wufei, hands bound at his back, and he was sobbing uncontrollably. "Yes, I'll assist you in your investigation! Yes, I'll testify on your behalf! Yes, I'll do whatever you fucking want, just don't send me to B-b-b..."

"Bone Island, Blue," Quatre supplied helpfully.

The boy whimpered miserably and collaped on the ground. Wufei shot Quatre an annoyed look. "Just for that, Winner, you're sitting in the back and I'm driving us to the shuttle."

Quatre smiled. "I'll look after Blue."

Wufei's eyes glittered like obsidian shards as he looked at Quatre. "As long as you have your sidearm, I suppose it's all right." _What are you up to, Quatre?_

Duo seemed suspicious. He looked at Quatre, who tried to project reassurance at him, then at Blue. "You try anything, you little fuckstain, and I'll rip your arm off and beat you to death with it."

"Yes sir," Blue mumbled, looking down at his feet. Wufei and Duo led him outside, withQuatre walking behind them. It took all three of them to manhandle him into the cramped storage area behind the driver's seat of Duo's truck, and Quatre needed Duo's help getting over the back of the passenger seat; his knee had stiffened up considerably from contact with the cold concrete floor. He thought to himself that this must be what it's like to be old. It wasn't a comforting thought.

He settled himself as well as he could among the old tools, gloves, bits of hardware and fast-food wrappers littering the floor, facing Blue. He made eye contact, and, moving very deliberately, holstered his pistol. "You aren't going to give me any trouble, are you?" He coughed, trying to ignore the ache in his chest and head. It wasn't fair, he thought, that he had come down with the worst cold he'd ever had just when he needed to be alert and strong. There was never a _convenient_ time to get sick, but he felt sorry for himself anyway.

"No sir," the boy said miserably.

"I didn't think so. Duo, can I have the laptop, please?" Quatre had left it on the front seat while he'd made his less-than-graceful climb over the seatback.

"Sure, man." Duo handed him the slim black case. "Whatcha up to?"

Quatre smiled slowly. "I'm going to put into practice something I learned from the great Heero Yuy."

At the sound of his best friend's name, Duo turned in his seat, sitting back on his heels so he could see over the seatback. "Oh, man, can I watch?"

"You bet."

* * *

The computer labs at the Peacecraft Institute were mostly deserted in the evenings. Relena's curriculum contained little that required extensive research or lengthy essays since she preferred the open seminar approach. Besides, most of the girls seemed to consider the machines uncouth somehow, gathering to do their work in the cozy libraries rather than the bleak labs.

Quatre and Heero had the run of the place. At first they had been cautious, sneaking in after hours or during mealtimes where they wouldn't be missed, but as the days went on they realized that no one really cared who used the labs when. The spyware Heero had installed on each machine indicated that no one was checking up on what they were doing, either.

"Sloppy," was his verdict as he and Quatre sat down one day to retrieve their messages and catch up on the news. "We could be selling weapons over the network and no one would notice."

"Speaking of weapons, I don't suppose you have an extra sidearm you could loan me? Mine got lost when I...you know." Though Heero had assured him many times that he harbored him no ill will for the incident with the new version of Wing and its strange cockpit system, he still found it impossible to speak about it directly.

"No, sorry. One of my...contacts can get you a new one within a few days though."

Quatre knew better than to ask about the contact, but he wasn't going to question Heero's ability to get what he needed when he needed it. "Thank you. I'll get you the credits as soon as I can. I'm feeling a little vulnerable without a gun."

Heero let out one of those low growls that passed as a chuckle from him. "Quatre, the last thing I need is any of your money. I can get plenty. You probably shouldn't be using your account anyway."

"I suppose you're right. But how will you access your account without being detected?"

Heero smirked in a particularly self-satisfied manner. "Who said I was taking the money from _my_ account?"

Quatre raised his eyebrows even though he wasn't terribly surprised. He already knew about Heero's philosophy of property: Whatever wasn't nailed down was his, and whatever he could pry up wasn't nailed down. "Oh? Whose account are you helping yourself to?"

Heero took his palmtop from the inner pocket of his uniform jacket and began to scroll though a list of names. Each name had a number beside it, presumably a bank account number. "Let's see...Lieutenant Colonel Lafayette hasn't contributed to the cause lately. She should be good for a few hundred credits."

Quatre stared over Heero's shoulder at the palmtop. Some of the names on Heero's list looked familiar. "OZ officers?" he guessed.

"Only the ones who were careless enough to leave their account information unencrypted and then were careless with their passcodes."

Quatre frowned, uncertain by what Heero meant. "I can understand having a bank statement or a credit chip out in plain sight, but surely no one leaves their account passcode just lying around?"

"No, I've never met any soldier who was stupid enough to do that, but since banks require an alphanumeric string of five characters or more as the passcode, then most people choose a date that is significant to them." Heero said as he began to type Lieutenant Colonel Lafayette's full name into the browser on the computer's screen.

"A date?" Quatre asked, watching as the search engine picked up the OZ officer's name. Only a few of the hits listed seemed relevant, and Heero clicked on one of them.

"A date, such as a wedding date," Heero said, and paused as he scanned the vanity page of the officer in question. "Or the date of a child's birth, or the subject's own birthday...ah."

Quatre looked at the page on the screen. The word 'day' was highlighted as part of the word 'birthday', and to the right of the paragraph was a picture of a red-haired woman blowing out the candles on a birthday cake. "I assume that's Lafayette?"

"Correct. And since this photograph was taken on the second of April and that it's her twenty-ninth birthday, we can also assume that she was born in AC 166."

Quatre nodded, staring at the screen. "Yes, and so OZ formats their dates by year, month and day, her birthdate must be 1-6-6-0-4-0-2."

Heero smiled. "Correct," he said, typing.

"But that doesn't make a good password. It's all numbers, and easily guessed ones at that."

Heero chuckled again. "Not if you convert it to hexadecimal."

* * *

Quatre brought up Yates's personal page. "There," he said, pointing to the date of Yates's birth.

"And there," Duo said, pointing to the date near a wedding photo.

Quatre scrolled down the page, but they saw no other significant dates. "Let's try the birthdate," he said, typing the numbers into a calculator application. He converted the number from decimal to hexadecimal and frowned. "No good. It's all numbers."

"What about the wedding date?"

Quatre tried it. "Damn. No good."

On the other side of the cargo area, Blue cleared his throat quietly. "I-I don't think Mr. Yates is married anymore," he said.

Quatre raised an eyebrow at him. "What makes you say that, Blue?"

"He's got a dartboard in his office with a wedding picture on it, and all the darts are sticking into the bride."

Wufei snickered. "That seems to indicate a certain amount of hostility. I don't suppose divorces in this cluster are a matter of public record, Duo?"

"How the hell should I know?" Duo said, sounding offended. "I'm a happily married man."

"I was just asking," Wufei said mildly.

"I found it," Quatre said. He'd connected to the local government network and was searching through the judicial records database. "Raleigh Yates divorced Maria Russo-Yates on the nineteenth of August, AC 205." He pulled up the calculator application again. "2-0-5-0-8-1-9 works out to 1F4B03. It's good."

They had arrived at the spaceport. Wufei pulled the truck into the passenger loading zone and leaned over the seatback to watch. "Are you going to try it now?"

"Might as well," Quatre said. He went back to the login page of Yates's bank and typed in the account number. Feeling suddenly nervous and doubtful, he tabbed to the passcode text box and typed in 1F4B03, then hit the Enter key. A drop of sweat rolled into his eye, and he dashed it away.

"Well I'll be..." Duo said, almost reverently. "Heero really knows his shit."

Quatre blinked at the screen and saw that it was now filled with a list of transactions on the account of Green Earth Reclaim. "It worked," he said, trying not to sound too surprised.

Duo stabbed a finger at a line dated the previous Sunday. "There! Fifteen thousand credits were transferred into the account at 0953 last Sunday morning. Well, isn't that interesting?" he said, glaring at the boy hunched in miserable silence on the floor of the truck.

Blue burst into tears anew.

* * *

"Duo, is it really necessary to lock him in the storage cabinet?"

"Yes, it is, actually."

"Wufei's not going to like it."

"Wufei's busy piloting."

Quatre shook his head and drained the last of the cough medicine from the bottle. "Have you figured out how to work that thing yet?"

Duo frowned at the little black box he'd been playing with. "Not really. I know the settings he used to replicate my voice, but I can't make it sound like I want it to."

"What do you want it to sound like?"

Duo grinned wickedly. "Minke Fapworth."

Quatre raised an eyebrow. "The porn star?"

"Yeah. I wanna hear her say, 'Oh, Duo, give it to me hard, you great big studly chunk of manliness, you!' It's a dream of mine."

Quatre grinned. "Hand it over and I'll see what I can do."

Duo looked surprised. "Seriously? You'd use all that fancy education of yours to help me fulfill one of my all-time favorite perverted little fantasies?"

"Sure," Quatre said, taking the voice-distortion unit from Duo's hand. "Well, that and I have a plan for dealing with Yates."

Duo snorted. "A plan involving Minke Fapworth? Quatre, you are one twisted son of a bitch."

The overhead speakers clicked to life. "Fifteen minutes to arrival on L2-2XH06N, gentlemen. And Duo, I think you can let Mr. Ervy out of the storage cupboard now."

Duo's shoulders sagged. "Damn, just when I was having fun."

TBC


	6. Cooperation

Title: Never Turn Your Back on the Sea (6?)  
Section Title: Cooperation  
**Author:** Alleyprowler  
**Pairings:** 3x4, 2xH and 1xR  
**Ratings/Warnings:** M for language, references to violence

* * *

Colony L2-2XH06N was a dump, and not just because it contained the largest reclaim and recycling business in space. No, the entire Colony was dirty and grim, and due to that fact, was populated much less than the cap. There were no parks, as far as Wufei could tell, no greenspaces, no ponds, no recreational areas at all, just one dull grey building after another. Even the air seemed grey; it had the stale, greasy odor of an atmosphere that was maintained exclusively by industrial recycling.

If he hadn't had explicit directions and a map from the vehicle rental center, Wufei doubted he would have been able to identify a salvage yard in this dirty grey landscape. He found it anyway. It was just as depressing as the rest of the Colony.

A tall, razor-wire topped chain link fence separated the inner workings of Green Earth Reclaim from the street. Leaving the two freshly deputized Preventers and their charge in the back of the rented van, Wufei entered the gate and paused inside to get his bearings. Unlike Duo and Hilde, who preferred to keep their payload out of sight in various storage buildings, Green Earth Reclaim had their scrap out in the open, arranged in heaps and rows sorted by type and cut through with claustrophobia-inducing alleyways.

Wufei could see the edge of a large aluminum Quonset hut near the center of it all that probably served as a storage area, or possibly a repair shop. It had a scrubber unit built into one end, but from what Wufei could tell, it was old and poorly maintained. A pair of forklifts and a halftrack dozer squatted abandoned near the front of the yard, looking like huge, dirty, yellow insects at rest. The ground was bare earth packed hard and turned black by years of oil drippings. There were a few puddles of indeterminate depth on the ground, full of black water and coated with a sheen of something that turned the surface into dark rainbows. Wufei made a soft sound of disgust. He really didn't know what that stuff was, but he had a feeling that he'd better avoid touching it if he ever planned on fathering children one day.

He tugged the hem of his short jacket down around his hips, adjusted his tie, and strode toward the Quonset hut in a businesslike fashion, mindful that there might be people watching him approach even during the lunch hour lull. He had discovered long ago that in situations where his age and authority might come into question, attitude was everything. A professional attitude usually got him the respect he deserved, and if that failed, there was always the trained killer attitude to fall back on. He hoped it wouldn't come to that.

The doors of the Quonset hut were wide open, presumably to let some cool air into the vast, dim space, so Wufei let himself in and approached the first person he saw. The man's back was to him, shapeless and ageless in baggy green coveralls. Wufei made his step a little heavier to avoid startling him.

"Excuse me," he said with as much cool politeness as he could muster, "could you tell me if a Mr. Yates is in today?"

The man turned around slowly. His greasy black hair was slicked back from a sharp widow's peak and his sallow skin gleamed with either oil, sweat, or both. "_You_ want to see Mr. Yates?" he asked, putting an insulting emphasis on the pronoun.

"Yes, if he's in." Wufei kept his tone even.

The man looked him up and down as if he was a side of beef that might or might not have gone bad. "What for?" he asked at last.

"That's between Mr. Yates and me."

The man finally noticed the insignia on the shoulder of Wufei's jacket. "You're a cop?" he asked incredulously.

Realizing he should have done so in the first place, Wufei reached into his inner pocket and pulled out his ID card. "Preventer Agent Chang Wufei. If you could kindly direct me to Mr. Yates..."

"What'd he do?"

Wufei's hands snapped into fists at his sides. He half-closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath through his nose, willing himself not to give in to his rising temper. When he opened them again, the man was looking at him with either fear or respect--Wufei didn't much care which one, but it was an improvement.

"Come with me, sir."

* * *

Back in the van, Duo sat across from Quatre in the middle row of seats, listening intently to the transmission from the open transmitter-receiver Wufei carried in his pocket. _So far, so good_, he thought. He spared a glance at Blue, who was curled up in a malodorous heap on the bench seat in the very back. Emotionally exhausted, the kid had dropped off into a deep sleep almost as soon as Wufei had parked the van, which was just fine with Duo. He'd had enough of the guy's blubbing to last the rest of his life.

He looked at Quatre and gave him a thumbs-up, and Quatre smiled in return. It was a weak smile, but a genuine one. Duo was worried about him; he was obviously sick, but he would never admit the fact while there was a job to do. Duo didn't like it, but he knew that Quatre would not take kindly to a suggestion to stay behind and rest. The best thing was to focus on his job and hope that it would be resolved soon. There would be plenty of time to scold Quatre later.

"Is he in yet?" Quatre asked, still fiddling with the little black box in his hands.

Duo slid the headphone off one ear. "No, he found someone who'll take him to Yates, but they're taking their sweet time about it. How's the army coming along?"

The voice distortion unit had been more than a source of entertainment on the shuttle flight to L2-2XH06N, it had been the inspiration for a devious bit of trickery. Duo was still mentally giggling over it.

Quatre's brow creased. "Not good. The low battery indicator just came on."

Duo grinned. "No problem," he said. "What class does it take? XB? XC?" He began to rummage around in his pockets, glad that he always carried around several fully-charged batteries of various classes and sizes around.

Quatre flipped the black box over and slid open the battery compartment. He drew his sleeve over his brow to wipe away a film of sweat. "XC class, size two. It takes four."

Duo held out four of the appropriate batteries and was rewarded with an absolutely thunderstruck look from the blond. He tried to look modest. "Hey, I work with lots of gadgets far away from the colony's power mains. It never hurts to be prepared."

Quatre gave him his 'Duo-you're-the-best' smile, the one that made Duo feel warm all the way to his toes. "Thanks, this'll be...well!"

"Well what?"

Quatre passed him the plastic cover that went over the voice distorter's battery compartment. Duo turned it over in his hands a few times before he found what he was looking for. The words were etched into the plastic, but so filled with grime and obscured by scratches that they were difficult to read. "Property of GER, and a phone number," Duo smirked. "Man, this guy just loves to step on his own dick."

"Nice metaphor," Quatre said, wrinkling his nose. He put the coin-shaped batteries into their proper slots and replaced the battery cover. "There. I've put in twenty-four voices--"

"Overkill!"

"Maybe, but you never know with Wufei. He's very thorough."

"Is that your polite way of saying anal-retentive?"

"That's my way of saying he's very thorough," Quatre said, giving him a level look. Duo got the message and made a show of zipping his lips shut, even if he did privately think he was right. He loved Wufei like a brother, but that didn't mean that some aspects of his personality weren't annoying.

Quatre continued, "The presets are simply numbered from one to twenty-four, and I've programmed in female as well as male voices, so don't be surprised if you come out sounding like the Channel Four weathergirl. Try to keep track of which voice goes with which name. The only thing this can't do to your voice is change your accent--you'll have to do that yourself."

"No worries, mate," Duo said in a manufactured Australian accent. He thought it was pretty good himself, but Quatre was giving him that _look_ again. "What?"

"Could you at least _pretend_ to be taking this seriously?" Quatre snapped.

True irritation was something Duo had seen so seldom from Quatre that he was too shocked to answer. But he didn't need to; Quatre passed a hand over his face and took a breath.

"I'm sorry, Duo. I shouldn't have said that. I know that's just your way of coping with things, and--"

Duo suddenly heard a new voice over the headphone that was still over his left ear and cut Quatre off with a sharp gesture. "You can grovel later, Quat. Things are getting interesting."

* * *

The man was stalling. Wufei didn't know what purpose it served, but the man who led him to Yates was purposefully dragging his feet and making a point to stop and converse with every other person they came across, and they seemed to be taking a rather circuitous route through the scrapyard.

If the man was trying to get him lost, though, he was in for a disappointment. Wufei had a mental compass that had never failed him, and besides, Duo and Quatre were monitoring him from the van. If something happened to him between these towering heaps of metal, they would come charging directly to him, maze or no.

It was good to have dangerous friends.

The building they finally arrived at was in the center of the yard, in view of the front gate. Wufei fumed. The man in the greasy coveralls really had taken a roundabout way to get here, and he did not appreciate having his time wasted. Wufei sincerely hoped that he would be able to arrest the guy, on any charge. He didn't even have to be in on the attack on Quatre; Wufei would be just as happy to arrest him for spitting on the sidewalk as attempted murder.

"You wait right here, kid, I'll get the boss for you," the man said, pushing the door open.

Wufei casually pushed his open jacket to one side, revealing his sidearm. "I will wait inside, and I will not wait long. And you will address me as Agent Chang, not 'kid'."

The man's florid face suddenly drained of color. "Right."

Wufei followed him into an air-conditioned room with filthy blue carpeting on the floor, molded-plastic chairs and wire-frame magazine racks on one side, a wooden door with a pebbled-glass window on the other side, and an antique cherrywood desk against the far wall. The desk was presently unoccupied.

The man in the coveralls knocked on the door. "Boss? Someone's here to see you."

"What the hell, Morley, it's lunchtime! I'm eating!" The voice from behind the door was thick, but loud.

"Boss, it's a Preventer agent."

There was a silence, followed by the sound of paper crumpling. "Send him in, and then go to lunch."

Morley's brow crinkled. "But I've already gone to lunch, Boss."

"Go again, and take Albey and Duke and whoever is still working with you."

Wufei looked up at the confused man. "I'd do as your supervisor tells you. It shouldn't take more than an hour. Enjoy your meal." He gave Morley a hard look, then pulled the door open and stepped into the office.

Yates had obviously tried to impart a bit of style into his office, but had failed miserably. The oak desk was too wide and gaudily-carved to be tasteful, the silk plants were in need of a good scrubbing, and the art on the walls was...Wufei blinked at one particular oil painting and quickly looked away. The art on the walls was borderline pornographic. Wufei supposed it might have been classified as 'conceptual' or 'avant-garde' under the current pornography laws, but still, seeing a naked woman down on all fours while three men sat around her in club chairs playing poker on her back made his guts twist with revulsion.

Wufei turned away from the print and looked at Yates, who was wrapping the remains of a sandwich in a grease-spotted paper bag. The man was in his mid-fifties, Wufei judged, and bore the well-rounded physique of a man who liked to dine often and heartily, and yet there was the shadow of muscular strength in his frame. His complexion was the fake bronze borne of expensive natural sun tanning, and his white hair and mustache were trimmed within millimeters of perfection. Yates's hands were soft and meticulously clean, the nails clipped and buffed to a hard shine. Wufei could almost see his own reflection in them. The man obviously had the means to take care of himself.

_Why, then,_ Wufei asked himself, _is he dressed like _that

Yates was dressed--no, costumed--to look like a ranch owner in an old Earth film about the American frontier. He wore a long sleeved cotton shirt with leather fringe sewn across the chest and elaborately-embroidered pockets. The shirt had cufflinks that were made of silver and turquoise, and must have weighed a kilo each. Around his neck, Yates wore a string tie with a clasp made of fake petrified wood worked with a silver cattle brand. Most ridiculous of all, he had a white ten-gallon hat with a snakeskin band perched on his well-groomed head. Wufei guessed that the man wore Earth-imported bluejeans and hand-tooled boots, but since he didn't seem inclined to stand up and shake hands, the guess remained a guess.

"Good afternoon," he stated formally. "I am Agent Chang Wufei of the Preventers. Am I correct on assuming that you are Raleigh Peter Yates?"

The fat man leaned back in his chair, and folded his hands across his belly. "I'm Raleigh Yates," he said in a pleasant voice, then he burped, stifling the noise against his fist. "'Scuse me, you caught me in the middle of my lunch. What can I do for you, Agent?"

_Confess, you fat shit, so I can go home,_ Wufei thought. Out loud, he said, "I'm investigating an attempted murder on Earth, and I thought perhaps your expertise in certain matters might assist me."

Yates's demeanor changed. He leaned forward and laced his hands together on his desk blotter and regarded Wufei with a concerned crease across his forehead. "Of course, I'd be glad to aid the Preventers in any way I can, Agent. I really respect the work you guys do," he said with unctuous sincerity. "Please, have a seat."

Wufei gave in to the urge to sneer as he turned to find a seat. He selected one that was plastic painted to look like oak and settled it in front of the desk. "Thank you. I'd like to begin by asking you about the accepted procedure for the reclaim and resale of neo-titanium. It's a restricted substance, if I understand correctly."

Yates's lips were pursed thoughtfully. "It's restricted, yes, which is why I don't deal with the stuff myself. I leave that to the Sweepers III outfit over on '00G. Seems the young man who runs the outfit has a few...connections, shall we say." The insinuating tone made Wufei glad he had decided to skip lunch.

"I've spoken to the Maxwells. They were most helpful," he said shortly. "All right, next question. You use explosives in your work, do you not?"

The man seemed confused by the question. "Sure we do. Everyone does in this line of work. We use C4 cutting tape with PETN boosters or M112 demolition block, usually. Sometimes that's the only way to cut through big hunks of metal."

_Bullshit_, though Wufei. That might be the only way to cut through Gundanium or some of the tougher heat-resistant ceramics, but ordinary metals were usually cut to size with heat welders. It was far safer that way. "I see. And do you keep large quantities of these substances on the premises?"

"It depends on what you mean by 'large'," said Yates smoothly. "I keep a few coils of cutting tape and a couple of kilos of demo block in the hazard shed if you'd like a look."

_Yes, I'm very curious about where you, a civilian, store your military-use plastic explosives_, Wufei said with an internal smirk. _Very curious indeed_. "I believe I would like a look, Mr. Yates, but if you'll excuse me, I need to inform my perimeter patrol that I am changing locations before we make that visit."

For once, Yates showed a genuine emotion. His jaw dropped slightly and his blue eyes shifted out of focus in an expression of bafflement that made him appear mentally deficient. "What perimeter patrol?" he asked.

Wufei took his communicator out of his pocket. "Standard procedure," he said blandly. "It's often necessary to post a guard around the site of an investigation--helps keep the riff-raff away."

"I...uh..."

"Phipps, report," Wufei barked into the unit, not giving the man a chance to protest.

"Guarding the spinn'ard port corner, sir," said a light, crisp female voice.

"Delacroix, report."

"Guarding the spinn'ard center, sir," said a basso profundo voice as rich and complicated as port wine.

"Benguela, report."

"Guarding the spinn'ard starboard, sir," said a drawling young male voice in a bored tone.

"Benguela, move to starboard center anti-spin and relieve Bernádez."

"Will do, sir," said the drawling voice, and Wufei smiled a little. He recognized Duo's accent even behind the disguised voice, so subtly but noticeably different than Quatre's faster, more clipped manner of speaking.

"Where do you want me, sir?" asked a smoky, sultry female voice, and Wufei's smile faded. Oh no, those two monkeys wouldn't have kept _that_ voice, could they?

Apparently Yates recognized it too. "Say, is that...?"

"Agent Bernádez, move to the front entrance," Wufei snapped, making a mental note to dig his thumbscrews out of storage. "Lynch, guard the port side, McKinney, take starboard."

"Yes, sir," chorused two male voices.

"Oh, and I'm changing position myself. We'll be going to the hazardous materials shed."

"Are you crazy? Sir?" 'Lynch' blurted out.

That was it; Duo was first in line for the thumbscrews. He said smoothly, "Thank you for your concern for my mental well-being, Agent, but although my sanity has been called into question several times, the Preventer psychiatrists have consistently given me a clean bill of health. Chang out."

Yates was regarding him with something close to respect. "That's some team you have there, Agent Chang."

"They are young and spirited," Wufei said, "but perhaps not as disciplined as I would like." He stowed the communicator back in his pocket and grasped the handle of his laptop's carrying case. "Show me the way to the explosives shed."

* * *

"Do you think Wufei's going to kill us?" Quatre asked thoughtfully.

"Nah, he'll probably just torture us a little."

Quatre shuddered. "I think I'd rather be killed by Wufei than tortured by him. He can be very...creative."

Duo patted him briskly on the knee. "I'll be suffering right alongside you, buddy."

"That's very comforting."

Duo stared at the readout on his GPS screen. "Wufei's stopped. It looks like the creep's explosives shed in by the port wall, about fifty meters inward."

"Should we get closer to the entrance? Wufei might want to call in his witness," Quatre asked, looking over the back row of seats at Blue, who was twitching uneasily in his sleep. _If you think you are having nightmares now, my friend, just wait and see what comes next._

Duo was engrossed in the tracking display and was pressing the left headphone to his ear. "Take us as close as you can; Wufei's starting to ask some heavily loaded questions." He blew his shaggy bangs out of his face and frowned at Quatre. "Goddammit, Quat, why'd you take the magazine out of your pistol? Yates gives me the creeps. I mean, he was pretty creepy before all this happened, but now he's like extra super creepy with a side of fries."

Quatre squeezed himself in between the two front seats and eased down into the driver's seat. He found the key still in the ignition, and he pressed it. The electric engine started up silently; the only indication that it was engaged and idling was a yellow light on the dashboard. His chest felt tight and his breath came short, and he wasn't sure if it was from his illness or from the surge of strong emotion he felt when he heard Duo's veiled accusation. "I don't like guns."

"Neither do I, but Jesus! That fucker almost killed you!"

"We don't know that, Duo," Quatre said. He was going to say more, but taking a breath, he heard a faint whistle in his chest and his throat felt tight. He coughed hard, trying to clear his voice, and was momentarily panicked when he couldn't stop. He hacked until he was certain he was either going to pass out or throw up. Black spots swarmed across his vision. His hands and feet went numb. His chest muscles surely could not take the strain any longer...but then the fit subsided. Quatre raised his sweaty head from its resting place on the steering wheel and blinked away a lens of tears. He felt a warm hand rubbing his spine. "I'm okay," he said hoarsely in answer to the unasked question.

Duo patted him gently between the shoulderblades. "You just keep believing that, buddy. Meanwhile, you let me do all the heavy lifting and you just stand back looking all serious and dangerous-like. I'm trusting you to cover my ass."

Quatre dropped the transmission lever into Drive. "That I can do."

* * *

Wufei hefted the cellophane-wrapped block of plastic explosive in his hand, noting that it was exactly as Quatre had described the contents of the packing case he had opened at Bell Point. "This M112 seems to be military surplus," he said.

"Yeah, I think so."

Wufei gazed at the man disdainfully; Yates's mind seemed to be elsewhere. "You _think_ so? You have several dozen kilograms of high explosive and you _think_ it's military surplus?"

"Didn't ask," Yates said with a shrug.

"This could be important, Mr. Yates. You see, our case involved this exact type of explosive, and it's very unusual that a civilian would be able to get his hands on this amount of it. I could check it through the Preventer's tracking system, but I'd rather not go through the trouble. I ask you again: Is this military surplus?"

"I suppose it could be. I'd have to check with my secretary; she's the one who does all the ordering."

"I suggest you do that." Wufei stepped further into the shed and looked into the farthest corners. He pulled a dirty canvas tarpaulin from a pile of something on the floor and drew in a breath of surprise. Underneath was a stack of packing crates, lightweight aluminum things the size of suitcases, reinforced at the edges with steel strips to cut down on wear and tear. Just like Quatre had described. "What do you use these for, Yates?"

"Oh, those!" Yates said, and let out a fake, nervous little laugh: _haha_. "Damn, I don't know how we got those, but sometimes Meg--she's my secretary--sees a good price and buys stuff that she thinks we might have a use for. Can't resist a bargain, that girl. I've tried breaking her of that habit, but you know how women are with money, my ex-wife, for example, she couldn't seem to pass a shoe shop without buying the whole goddamn inventory, I tell ya--"

"Open one."

"Beg pardon?"

"Open one of those cases."

Yates removed his ridiculous hat and armed a sheen of sweat from his tanned brow. "Any particular reason why I should, Agent?"

Well, it had worked on Blue... Wufei swept aside a corner of his open jacket casually, revealing the butt of his holstered pistol and smiled. "Your cooperation would be greatly appreciated."

A civilian might not have caught the flicker of sheer hatred in Yates's eyes, but Wufei was trained to observe. That cold flash of emotion sealed the man's fate in Wufei's eyes; this case was going to get escalated whether he found any further evidence or not. Une trusted him, and even if he told her he was running on instinct alone, she would back him up.

Yates laboriously lowered himself to one knee and unlatched the clasps holding the packing case closed. He lifted the lid and leaned back. "Huh. I wonder what those are," he said.

Wufei reached into his jacket again and pulled out a penlight. For one surreal moment he thought he saw a few bottles of the ginko biloba supplement that one of his officemates ate like candy, but upon closer examination he saw that it was something far more malignant. The black cylinders with their red caps were chemical detonators, commonly used by demolitions experts, mining engineers, and terrorists to produce a timed blast. A slow smile crept across his face. "Thank you, Mr. Yates," he said, reverting to a polite tone of voice, "you have been most helpful. I really hate to impose, but I was wondering if I could ask you to speak with one of our suspects in the case."

Yates, who had been rising creakily to his feet, suddenly straightened. His snow-white eyebrows seemed to disappear under the brim of his stupid hat, and he grinned his broad I'm-just-an-honest-citizen-helping-the-authorities grin and slapped his knee. "You've got a suspect after only a day? Gee, don't you boys work fast!"

Wufei had a difficult time keeping a straight face. _How do you know exactly how long I've been working on this case, you filthy cockroach_? "Your confidence is appreciated." He took his communicator out of his pocket and switched it on. "Attention, team. Will Deputy Agents Maxwell and Winner please bring Mr. Ervy to the Quonset hut visible from the front entrance? Quickly, please."

"Yes, sir," came Duo's voice from the tiny but powerful speaker. "Right away, sir," said Quatre's voice.

"Excellent." Wufei snapped the unit off and smiled at Yates. The look on the man's face was worth every pain, ache, humiliation, and mental anguish he'd ever suffered during his training.

It was the look of a man who knew he had not escaped justice after all.

* * *

"It's showtime!" Duo announced.

Quatre, who had been dozing behind the steering wheel, jerked awake with a start. "What'd he say?" he asked, his voice thick with sleep.

"He asked Deputy Agents Maxwell and Winner to bring Mr. Ervy to the Quonset hut. God, Wufei has guts calling us out by name." Duo grinned, feeling elated. He'd been suspicious of Yates for years now, and it looked like Wufei had finally found something hard to nail the guy's balls to.

"He really did?" Quatre asked, sounding more awake.

"Yup."

"If he's feeling that bold, he must have found out something incriminating," Quatre said.

"That's what I was thinking. I'm gonna wake up Stinky here, then we can make our grand entrance." Duo knelt on his seat and looked at the teenager curled up on the bench seat behind him. The wet spot on Blue's crotch had dried to a vague outline that couldn't be seen unless one was looking for it, but the faint odor of ammonia was unmistakable in these close quarters. Duo wrinkled his nose and drew the sleeve of his borrowed jacket over his finger before he poked the boy in the ribs. "Wake up, sunshine," he said.

"Muh," said Blue.

"_Now_, gorgeous. We're on."

Blue cracked his eyes open and lifted one hand to rub them. He seemed startled when he felt the tug of the handcuffs on his wrists. "What's this? Why am I...? Oh, shit."

"'Oh shit' is right, sugar. C'mon, we have a job to do."

Blue set his jaw stubbornly and peered at Duo from behind his bangs. "What do you want from me?"

"Cooperation, Blue," Quatre said from the front seat.

Duo turned to look at him and gave him a wink. Cooperation was the magic word, wasn't it? "We're going to go see Yates now. You're going to stand up in front of him and tell us exactly what he asked you to do, how much he paid you to do it, and you're going to tell the truth."

The mulish look didn't leave Blue's face. "He's just gonna kill me, you know."

"Don't be stupid, you'll have three Preventer agents guarding you." Quatre's voice was snappish with impatience. "Think of how this might affect your case, Blue."

Duo watched as the boy thought. Blue's features softened and his eyes half-closed for half a minute while he considered his situation, then he looked up at his former employer with a sigh. He gave a small nod. "I'll do whatever you say."

"That's what I like to hear. Now give me your elbow and let's get outta here."

Duo walked on Blue's left side, holding his elbow to steady him and also to feel if the boy was going to try anything monumentally stupid like try to run with his hands cuffed behind his back. He really didn't think it would come to that; for all his sullenness, Duo was fairly sure the kid was broken. Quatre walked on Blue's right. He also had a hand on Blue's arm, but Duo had to wonder who was supporting whom.

As soon as they passed the gates, Duo got his first good look at the scrapyard itself and felt nauseated with sheer disgust. "Holy crap. This guy can't possibly be passing inspection!"

"Environmental inspectors are only human," Quatre said in a weary voice. "They can be persuaded to look the other way."

Duo steered his charge carefully around a puddle of standing black water. "Wanna be careful of that stuff if you don't want to have hairy little kids with two heads, guys. Er, sorry, Quat."

"What_ is_ it?" Quatre asked.

Duo, while usually qualified to comment on such matters, didn't feel like hazarding a guess on exactly what it was. "Fuel? Lubricant? Coolant? Who the hell knows? Smells like something a schoolkid would sniff to get high."

As if in affirmation, Quatre began to cough harshly. Duo slowed down, concerned, but then Quatre spat and a moment later, the body between them was jerked viciously to one side.

"Ow!" Blue complained.

"Don't whine," Quatre panted, "or I'll give you something to whine about. Look, there's Wufei."

Duo looked up and saw two figures silhouetted in front of the huge rolling door that led to the interior of the Quonset hut. The slim and sleek one was obviously Wufei, but he didn't recognize the slightly taller one who was built like a fireplug. It had to be Yates, of course, but now that he thought about it, Duo had never even seen a photo of the guy. That was odd. All of the salvage operations in space and most of the ones on Earth were part of a network that shared news and rumors as well as inventory lists with each other; it was good for business. Yet Duo had never even seen a photo of Yates in the trade magazines, at least not a recent one. The guy definitely had something to hide if he didn't want to advertise.

He shook Blue's elbow. "Is that fat guy Yates?"

The boy looked up briefly from the ground and nodded twice, then continued his study of the blackened earth beneath his feet.

Duo dragged him forward. He grinned when he got close enough to make out Wufei's features. "Deputy Agent Maxwell reporting, sir!" he shouted out.

Wufei tried--and failed--to suppress his own smile. "Maxwell and Winner. How very nice of you to come when summoned, but do try to be more timely in the future." Wufei turned toward the larger man, who looked utterly bewildered. "We can talk in here, where it's quiet. The staff have all gone out to lunch, fortunately."

"Oh...yeah," Yates said.

Duo strode toward the hut, dragging Blue and Quatre behind him. It was not one of the larger models, but the entrance was still nearly three times his height and the rolling door was opened to its maximum width of four meters. This was the normal freight door, he reckoned, noting the nicks and scrapes along the edges. There would be a larger door on the opposite side for outsized cargo.

Duo gave Wufei a snappy salute as he approached. "Where do you want the suspect, sir?"

Wufei pointed to a cluttered work table shoved against one curving wall. There was a battered wooden bench beside it. "Have a seat, Mr. Ervy."

Duo and Quatre marched Blue to the bench, sat him down, and took up positions at his sides. Wufei stood in front of the boy, looming over him with his hands behind his back. "Mr. Ervy, can you tell us what happened on the morning of Sunday, the fourth of February?"

Blue nodded. "Yeah. I left my apartment early in the morning, maybe around seven, and I went to Sweepers III. I was supposed to meet someone there." He peeked out shyly from behind his bangs. "I was supposed to meet Mr. Yates."

"Now hold on, boy," Yates began, but stopped when Wufei threw him a look.

"You'll get your turn later, sir."

Yates shut his mouth, but he was obviously unhappy about it; Duo thought he looked like a man who has just swallowed a lemon.

Blue cleared his throat quietly. "I met Yates outside the front entrance and let him in. We were the only ones there so early in the morning and I figured we had an hour or more. We went into one of the worksheds and I put on some of Duo--Mr. Maxwell's work clothes while Mr. Yates transferred some money into my account."

"I'm gonna fuckin' burn that cap," Duo muttered under his breath. He caught the look Wufei was giving him and shook his head in apology. "Sorry."

"Mr. Yates gave me this boxy thing that he said would change my voice, and I spent some time practicing. You know, trying to act like D--Mr. Maxwell. I can imitate people pretty good."

Duo saw Quatre shift uncomfortably. The poor guy was probably feeling guilty about being taken in like that.

"What was Mr. Yates doing while you were practicing?" Wufei asked.

"He had some still images of Mr. Maxwell from before. He said he'd gotten them off the vidphone we were using, and he was gonna use them in the transmission when I wasn't talking. I didn't really understand it, but he seemed to know what he was doing. So anyway, I put that box thing in my shirt pocket and called up Mr. Winner's house, and... well, you recorded it." Blue shrugged.

"Indeed." Wufei took his laptop out of its case and began to set it up on the workbench.

"That's quite a story, young man," said Yates. "Problem is, I've never seen you before in my life."

Blue said nothing. Duo noticed a plummy color rising in Yates's cheeks and sweat rolling down the sides of his face. The man might as well have had a neon sign over his head reading GUILTY.

"Watch, please," Wufei said, and began to play back the recording.

Duo watched, but not the computer. He was more interested in watching Yates. The guy was turning all sorts of colors, which probably wasn't healthy for a man of his age and weight. His pupils were dilated and he was taking very shallow breaths; both were signs of intense interest...or intense fear. _He's gonna crack any minute now_.

The short recording ended. Yates took a monogrammed handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his face. "Well, I admit I'm not an expert on that kind of thing, but as far as I can tell, that was Duo Maxwell. He doesn't look too much like Blue to me."

Wufei caught Duo's eye and gave him a smug little smirk. At first, Duo didn't know what the hell there was to grin about, but then it hit him: Yates had called the kid Blue. Duo returned the smirk.

"Agent Maxwell, the voice distortion unit is in your pocket, I believe," said Quatre. He, too, was smirking. The expression sat strangely on his pallid and bruised face. He looked almost sinister.

Duo pulled the black box out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Wufei. "Sir, if you'll take the cover off the battery compartment, I think you'll find something interesting."

Wufei looked suspicious, but he slid the piece of plastic off the back and examined it closely in the light of a gooseneck lamp on the workbench. A slow, wolfish smile formed on his face. "Well, this _is_ interesting. 'Property of GER'. I assume that stands for Green Earth Reclaim?"

Yates drew himself up indignantly. Duo thought he looked like a toad. "Now hold on there, young man. Are you accusing me of something?"

Wufei inclined his head toward Blue. "Mr. Ervy has confessed he was an accessory in a very serious crime, and he has named you as the mastermind behind it, shall we say. This crime involved a lot of plastic explosives, probably type M112, which were set off with a chemical detonator much like the ones in your hazardous materials shed. The explosives were packed in steel-edged aluminum packing crates. Now I admit that you owning all of these things might be nothing but a bizarre coincidence, but you've made so many incriminating and spectacularly stupid mistakes that I've got no qualms about bringing you into Preventer's headquarters for further questioning."

Yates lunged, not at Wufei, but at Blue. Duo reflexively pulled the boy backward off the bench and hopefully out of harm's way, but the abrupt movement only served to shatter what little composure Blue had gained, and he began to howl and writhe. "You lying little sack of shit!" Yates shouted. "I oughta wring your fucking neck! What the hell are you playing at, boy?"

"You will not touch him," Wufei said calmly. He'd pulled out his pistol and was holding it to Yate's neck. The big man straightened up, but the thunderclouds on his brow only got darker.

"I'm gonna sue the shit outta you guys."

"Fine," Wufei said, sounding utterly unconcerned. With his free hand, he pulled out a set of handcuffs. "Maxwell, could you and Winner help Mr. Ervy to his feet?"

Duo bent to help the writhing boy stand up. Quatre bent too, but he gave a hiss of pain when he tried to crouch down and Duo shook his head at him. "Let me handle this. You make sure Wufei's all right."

"Right."

It was not easy getting a panicked eighteen year old to his feet. Blue was sweating and slippery, and he didn't seem to want to go anywhere but under the work table. Duo sighed. "Goddammit, I am not getting paid enough for this," he muttered. He took hold of Blue's collar and gave a mighty heave. Blue gave a strangled _urk!_ and scrambled to his feet; Duo threw his arms around the boy's waist to keep him there. Blue suddenly went limp, crying, and Duo sighed again. "It's just one of those fucking days, isn't it?"

* * *

Duo had his hands full--literally as well as figuratively--so Wufei got the honor of cuffing Yates. He holstered his gun and muttered, "Cover me," to Quatre, who immediately pulled out his pistol and trained it on Yates.

"Hurry up, man, this guy is heavier than he looks," Duo said irritably, holding onto the sobbing teenager in his charge. Blue only cried harder and went even more limp, causing the braided man to begin cursing under his breath. Wufei didn't envy him; he could smell the stench of terrified sweat and dried urine coming off the boy from where he stood. It must have been very unpleasant from Duo's point of view.

Yates's face was so dark a red it looked nearly purple, and Wufei found himself wishing that the man would have a stroke and save him some paperwork. He snapped the cuff onto the man's beefy right wrist. "I'm going to inform you of your rights under the EarthSphere Unified Nation Penal Codes--"

That was as far as Wufei got before his prisoner whirled around and he felt something like a padded battering ram smash into his jaw, and the world swung abruptly sideways. The filthy ground rushed up to slam him in the side.

"Holy crap, Quat, get 'im!" Duo was yelling.

Fighting back dizziness and the pain in his jaw, Wufei raised his head enough to see that Yates was running in great, lumbering strides toward the street with Quatre moving to cut him off, and it should have been an easy race, but something seemed to be wrong with Quatre. He stopped running after only a few meters, coughing and heaving for breath. He was trying to shout something, but he couldn't get the words out.

Wufei struggled for his sidearm, but before he could get to it, a shot rang out and there was a high, hoarse scream of pain. "What the fuck?" Duo said quite clearly, and Wufei echoed his sentiment silently. He blinked several times to make sure he wasn't seeing things, but there Yates was, on the ground and howling in pain as he clutched his leg.

Quatre had shot him with an unloaded pistol.

Ignoring the mystery for the moment, Wufei got to his feet and walked past the gasping blond to see to the big man. The bullet had hit him right above the knee and the wound was bleeding quite a bit, but not enough to indicate that he was going to bleed to death in the next few minutes.

Wufei knelt down and rolled Yates to his stomach, pulling his arms behind his back. "As I was saying, I'm going to inform you of your rights under the EarthSphere Unified Nations Penal Codes--"

Duo, still struggling with a limp and uncooperative Blue, suddenly let out a panicked shout. "Quatre's down! Quatre's down!"

Shocked, Wufei turned his head to see Quatre had collapsed in a limp heap on the filthy ground. "I'll read you your rights later," he said to Yates, and coshed him behind the ear with the butt of his gun. The big man immediately stopped screaming, which was one mercy.

Wufei made his way to where Quatre lay and gently rolled him over. He wasn't conscious, but he wasn't bleeding and didn't have any obvious injuries. His lips were a cyanotic shade of blue. Wufei checked his hands and saw that the nail beds were dusky grey from lack of oxygen. He pressed his fingertips to Quatre's neck and was relieved to feel a jackrabbiting heartbeat. "He's got a pulse," he said for Duo's benefit; the braided man had dragged his charge to where Quatre lay and let him drop to the ground. Duo gave a quiet sigh of relief and put one knee on the boy's back to keep him still while he rummaged around in his jacket for his cell phone.

Wufei tilted Quatre's head back and put his cheek near the blond man's nose and mouth. A very faint current of warm air brushed against his skin. Too faint. "He's breathing, but just barely. Get an ambulance."

Duo nodded. He had already dialed the Emergency Services number and was speaking with an operator. "Medical emergency. Green Earth Reclaim. I don't know the address. We need an ambulance pronto; we've got a very sick man here, he's collapsed and he's not breathing. Oh, and there's a guy with a gunshot wound too. Hurry!"

Wufei pinched Quatre's nostrils shut, took in a great gasp of air, and began to breathe for his friend.

TBC


	7. Waking and Falling

**Title:** Never Turn Your Back on the Sea (7?)

**Section Title:** Waking and Falling

**Author:** Alleyprowler  
**Pairings:** 3x4, 2xH and 1xR  
**Ratings/Warnings:** M for language, references to violence

* * *

Quatre was falling.

He could feel the queasy weightlessness of freefall in his arms and legs and head. A bitter wind roared in his ears and stole his breath away. He had the dizzying impression that he was lying stationary in the air while the ground was rushing up at him, although he knew it was really the other way around. The images around him were blurry and indistinct; mere watercolor streaks and splashes in different shades of grey. He tried to tuck himself into a ball to minimize impact and protect his head, but he didn't seem to have any control over his body at all. He couldn't even close his eyes. And all this time the ground was rushing, rushing, rushing up at him, looming larger and larger...

He woke with a jerk and a panicked, breathless cry. His eyes flew open. He tried to complete his dream-motion of bringing his body into a tuck-and-roll, but he found that his left arm would not move. He looked down at his side and saw that his wrist was restrained with a leather cuff lined in fake fleece and there was an IV needle buried in the back of his hand, held in place with a white x of adhesive tape. It felt strange and cold under his skin.

With his free right hand, he patted the surface beneath him to reassure himself of its solidity while he caught his breath. He was reclining on something white and there was a soft pillow beneath his head and a pale yellow blanket was pulled up to his waist. He was in a bed, but it wasn't his own. The room wasn't quite dark; it was subtly lit by the low-intensity halogens that provided the night lighting on a residential colony.

"Easy there, Quat. It was just a bad dream," said a voice somewhere to his left. He turned his head in that direction and winced at the sensation of long shards of glass being pushed slowly through the delicate tissues of his brain.

"Duo?" His own voice sounded foreign to his ears. It was distant and muffled and rough, not like his usual voice at all.

"Yeah, it's me." Duo leaned into Quatre's field of vision, smiling. The sight of a familiar, friendly face and the feel of a reassuring hand on his arm calmed Quatre considerably. He wanted to smile back, but there was something wrong with his face...

"Don't mess with that, babe," Duo said softly, restraining Quatre's roaming hand. "It's just an oxygen mask, leave it alone."

Oxygen mask? That explained why his voice sounded so odd. This unfamiliar white room must be in a hospital ward. "Why?" he asked.

"Why the oxygen?" Duo repeated. His voice seemed to be fading in and out like the signal of a poorly-tuned radio. "Don't you remember?"

Quatre thought back. The last thing he remembered clearly was standing in front of the main office of Green Earth Reclaim with Wufei and Duo. The young fellow known as Blue, cuffed at the wrists, and the owner of GER were with them. The youth was crying and struggling in Duo's arms while the older man was yelling something about suing someone or some such nonsense, and then... bad things happened...

"Yates and Blue," Quatre murmured, racking his uncooperative brain. "Did they hurt me? Are _you_ okay?"

Duo smiled gently. "Wufei and I are fine, Q. Wufei'd be here too, but the poor guy has a pretty sore jaw, not to mention tons of paperwork to fill out. Yates and Blue are locked up nice and safe, too, if you're worried about them." The smile faded and his tone became slightly reproachful. "I wish you'd said something earlier, Q, you scared the shit out of me."

"Something about what?" Quatre asked.

The look on Duo's face was not very reassuring. Even though his features seemed to be oddly blurred, Quatre could tell he was looking confused and concerned. "They said your memory might be a little spotty from oxygen deprivation. I guess they were right."

That statement did not set Quatre at ease. He tried to sit up, but the room spun sickeningly around him and his head gave a tremendous thump as if warning him that sitting up was a very bad idea. Duo's hand on his shoulder was warm and solid, though, and he tried to move closer to it. Duo seemed to understand; his arm slid under Quatre's neck and Quatre felt himself embraced in a half-hug. The gesture seemed to make his surroundings a little steadier.

"Do you remember shooting Yates?" Duo asked in his ear.

Quatre's heart gave a startled lurch in his chest, and he tried to blink away the mistiness that was growing around his peripheral vision. "Did I really shoot him? I thought I dreamed that."

Duo's voice took on an odd tone. "Yeah, you really shot him. I saw that gun, Quatre. There was no magazine in it. Wufei told me that you took it out, so how the fuck did you put a bullet through his leg?"

Quatre remembered that part, at least. "One round in the firing chamber. Just in case." It was difficult to speak clearly, and Quatre wondered if he'd been drugged.

Duo chuckled deeply and ruffled Quatre's bangs. "You sneaky little devil. You always have a contingency plan, don't you?"

Quatre merely shrugged. He had definitely been drugged, judging by the lack of sensation in his body and the flatness of his emotions. "Thirsty," he said vaguely, thinking that a drink of water might wake him up a little.

He had to moan a little when Duo slid an arm under his shoulders to help him sit up straight; the pain in his head came back abruptly, accompanied by a greasy wave of nausea. He clutched his stomach. "It's the anesthetic, Q," Duo explained. "They had to knock you out to suction some fluid from your lungs and take a bone fragment out of your knee. You must really be hurting. Here, let these melt in your mouth."

Quatre felt the edge of the oxygen mask lift and then something cold touched his lips. He parted them to let Duo push some ice chips into his mouth. The coolness of the melting ice felt like a preview of heaven.

Duo laid him back down against the raised head of the bed and tucked the blanket around him. "We were worried about you, babe. Your temperature kept spiking up and you got a little weird on us a few times, but I think it's down now." Duo's broad, work-callused hand was surprisingly gentle as it brushed aside Quatre's bangs and rested briefly on his forehead. "The docs figured you must have inhaled some seawater when you had your close encounter with the Pacific. You have aspiration pneumonia in your right lung and it's spreading to the left, and it could've been really bad news if it had gone untreated any longer." Duo's voice broke and he paused to clear his throat and wipe his eyes. "But you'll be okay. They promised."

Quatre swallowed his mouthful of melted ice and put a hand on Duo's arm. He was horribly confused and more than a little woozy, but he felt Duo needed comfort more than he did. "'Course I'm okay," he whispered, slurring his words a little. His lips were numb from the ice and the effects of the anesthetic.

"Yeah, I know," Duo said. "The docs said you must have the constitution of an ox to stay on your feet as long as you did."

Quatre smiled at the compliment, but he hardly felt like an ox at the moment. His eyelids felt heavy and his chest was beginning to ache fiercely. He wanted to go to sleep, to escape the pain for a little while. "Trowa?" he inquired drowsily.

Duo snickered. "I called him. He's on his way. I don't think he appreciated being kept out of the loop, babe; that guy has a vocabulary that makes _me_ blush."

While that was quite possibly true, Quatre didn't care. Trowa could rant and swear and curse all he wanted, as long as he did it by his side. "'M sleepy, Duo," he said, settling his head deeper into the pillow. He felt the blanket being pulled higher around his body, another brush of cool fingertips against his brow, and then he didn't feel anything at all.

* * *

Wufei set his bag down on the worn carpet and eased himself down onto the rock-hard hotel room bed. His jaw ached, his head was thumping, and his muscles were so tense they could have doubled as piano strings. After the incident with Yates and Blue and the chaos of the hospital, he wanted nothing more than a hot shower, a meal, and a decent night of sleep, but he had a feeling it just wasn't to be.

He sat up and took his laptop out of the case where it had been burring for the last hour and set it up on top of the wood veneer desk by the dirty window. The Starview Hotel, being the cheapest in the Colony aside from the motels that rented rooms by the hour, did not have a complimentary satellite linkup. Wufei could have checked into any number of higher-ranking accommodations, but he preferred not to incur any unnecessary expenses when they were on the Preventer's tab, and this place was just as good as any. All he really needed was there in the tatty but efficient space: bed, chair, table, and a bathroom off to one side.

He connected to the satellite uplink built into his laptop. "Chang here," he said. He slipped the elastic from his ponytail and let his hair flow loose around his shoulders. He hadn't engaged the video since that would be an extra charge to the Preventer's account and he was took pride in his cost-effective methods.

"Wufei? This is Milo."

Milo Morrison was the coordinator for Wufei's department and nominally Wufei's superior, but he knew full well to whom Wufei actually reported.

"Yes, Milo. Do you need my serial number or do you have my voiceprint?"

"I know who you are, Chang, no need to get all sarcastic on me," Milo said. There was a significant pause and Wufei heard the shuffling of paper in the background. "I've got your preliminary report here, and it doesn't look good."

"Oh? How so?" Wufei said. He'd used ice from the machine in the hotel's lobby and a hand towel from the bathroom to make himself an impromptu ice pack, which he held to the bruise on his jaw. Although he had quite an impressive lump there that was turning an ugly shade of purple, he'd been informed that nothing was broken and that the loose teeth were only temporary. That didn't make it ache any less. "The suspects are in custody, no civilians were wounded, case closed. What's not good about it?"

"Wufei, this whole thing is pretty wonky." Milo Morrison, who was famous for keeping a cool head in any crisis, sounded upset. "It says here you deputized a scrapyard owner and an electrical engineer to assist you in your investigations...what's up with that? Why didn't you call in another agent if you needed backup? Who are these people? One was hospitalized. Why didn't you give their _names_?"

Wufei blew a strand of hair out of his face. "Milo, I know you hate being kept in the dark, but that's eyes-only. My report to Director Une will explain everything."

"It had better, because from what I can tell, this case wasn't even under Preventer jurisdiction!"

"Trust me, Milo, I had good reason to believe it was an act of terrorism."

"I do trust you, that's what worries me. I've got four pages of pretty damn vague info here--that's not like you, Chang. What are you hiding?"

_Not what, but who_, thought Wufei. "I don't feel comfortable discussing this over the phone, Milo. Why don't you just go to Une and ask her?"

"Because she's on vacation in the Caribbean for the next two weeks and she's gone completely incommunicado."

"Crap."

"Crap is right, my friend," Milo said, sounding actually testy for the first time in the five years Wufei had known him. Milo was usually so laid back he was on the verge of being comatose. "Look, you might be Une's golden boy, but she's not here, I have no way of contacting her, and this whole thing stinks like week-old fish. I hate to pull rank on you, but once you get back, you're on desk duty till the Lady returns and figures out what to do with you."

Wufei's eyes flew wide open. "You can't do that!"

"I just did. Morrison out."

* * *

Duo wondered why hospitals always had the best aquariums. The one he was standing in front of must have easily held two hundred and fifty liters of water and was teeming with bright tropical fish. The substrate was of black sand planted with delicate, graceful aquatic flora for the fish to hide in, and decorative rocks in various shades of red provided further shelter. Not being an aquarist, he couldn't name any of the species of fish, but he decided that he liked the tiny blue and red ones that schooled in a neon-colored cloud best, followed closely by the funny black ones with the chubby bodies and bulgy eyes.

It looked so contrived, like an image in a television screen, but somehow Duo knew it was all real and alive even down to the sand, imported from exotic and sunny locations on Earth and shipped up to the L2 cluster to brighten the reception lounge of a smallish district hospital.

Duo looked at the brass plaque at the base of the tank and saw that it was a memorial to someone he'd never heard of, maintained by someone else he'd never heard of. _So, someone dies and someone else feeds the fishies in their name, _Duo thought, and shook his head. It was a pretty memorial, he supposed, but he was a practical man and thought the money might have been better used to improve the quality of the food in the cafeteria.

"Duo."

Duo gave a start when he heard his name called. It had been so quiet and peaceful in the ward that he had forgotten where he was. He whirled around and dropped into a half-crouch to defend himself, but immediately straightened when he saw who had hailed him. "Trowa!" he exclaimed in surprise. Trowa's rumpled clothing and tangled hair suggested he had left in a hurry and had traveled hard, but if he was tired from the trip, he wasn't showing it. Duo wrapped his arms around Trowa's shoulders to deliver a welcoming squeeze. Trowa made a faint gurgling noise as his ribs were crushed, but he managed to pat Duo's back a few times in greeting.

"Ow, Duo," he rasped out when Duo tightened his hold for a second, and Duo immediately dropped his arms and took a step backwards.

"Damn, it's good to see you, Trowa. You look...great." Duo privately thought Trowa looked awful, but he supposed that the shock of bad news and the stress of a commercial flight from his home colony to L2-2XH06N could take a toll on anyone's personal grooming, especially if Trowa had been in transit for the entire thirty hours since he had first received the call.

"Thank you. You look well. Can you take me to Quatre?" Trowa asked, raking his hand through the tangled mess of his hair. His long bangs lifted for a moment, then flopped back limply against the left side of his face. He obviously hadn't had time to do what he usually did to keep his physics-defying hairstyle in place.

"Sure thing," Duo said. He took Trowa by the wrist and dragged him to the nurses' station, which was staffed at this hour by a lone, small woman with mousy brown hair and thick spectacles. "You have to be careful with her; she's kinda jumpy," Duo whispered into Trowa's ear, and then he cleared his throat politely.

She had impressive reflexes for such a small woman. She nearly hit the ceiling before she recovered herself and was able to address the men standing in front of her. "Yes, can I help you?" she asked breathlessly.

"Hi again, Miss," Duo said, smiling broadly at her. He'd engaged her in polite conversation about the aquarium when she had come on shift earlier in the evening, and he thought he'd made friends with her. "This is another one of Quatre Winner's friends, and we were wondering if--"

Trowa slapped his ID down on the counter in front of the woman. "I'm his partner. What is his condition?" Trowa asked, sounding for all the world as if he was demanding a mission report.

She read the front of the ID card without touching it, then compared it against something in her computer. "Oh, his _partner_. Well, Mr. Winner was brought in with aspiration pneumonia--"

"I know that," Trowa snapped. "What is his condition?"

"He's as well as can be expected," she replied. "There are still a lot of crackles and rales in his breath sounds, but he is responding well to respiratory therapy and he is staying well-hydrated. Um...he's refusing solid food, but that's not unusual for acute pneumonia patients. His temperature is still spiking up, and--"

"What room is he in?"

She blinked, startled by his rudeness. Duo was a little startled himself. "He's in room 315," she said, pointing to it with her pen.

Trowa took off toward Quatre's room with great, loping strides and Duo gave the nurse an apologetic shrug before jogging after him.

The door to room 315 was just swinging closed, but Duo thought Quatre's privacy had been violated so many times in the last thirty-six hours that one more minor invasion wouldn't be a great sin. He stepped inside and almost ran into Trowa, who had frozen a few steps into the room.

"He sounds so awful," Trowa whispered. Quatre's breathing was rapid and rather noisy. To Duo, it sounded like a bad compressor. He blinked a few times and his night vision became more acute.

"Ah, I see the problem." He nudged Trowa aside and put his hands under Quatre's arms, grunting a bit as he hauled the blond man out of the slouch he had fallen into. Quatre mumbled sleepily but did not wake as Duo lay him straight against the raised head of the bed. He automatically checked the oxygen monitor on the wall and bumped it up a couple of notches, and Quatre began to breathe more easily. "He needs to be kept upright," Duo explained in a whisper. "It helps keep his lungs open."

"Why didn't someone notice before?" Trowa growled out.

Duo pointed to the metallic sheath that fit over Quatre's forefinger. "This is an oxygen monitor. If his blood O2 gets too low, it sets off an alarm and about a dozen highly trained professionals come running to fix him up."

Duo felt Trowa shudder behind him and suddenly wished he hadn't gone into such detail. "And how many times has this happened, exactly?" Trowa asked.

"Uh...twice. Once in the ambulance and once more right before they had to suction fluid out of his lungs. It hasn't happened since."

Trowa uttered a low curse that could have been either 'crap' or 'Christ'. Either way, it wasn't good. "Duo, could you give us some time alone?"

"Sure, man." Duo patted the back of Trowa's leather jacket. "I'll be hanging out at the aquarium if you need me."

"The aquarium?" Trowa asked distractedly. "Oh, yeah. Okay."

Feeling slighted, Duo jammed his hands into his pockets and made his way past the nurses' station and back to the reception lounge, where he threw himself down on a sofa to watch the fish.

He woke up a few hours later with a cramp in his shoulder from lying with his arm stretched over his head. The Colony lighting was still dimmed, but there was a faint pinkish tint to it that let him know dawn wasn't far off. Duo stretched, stood up, and took a few sips of water from a nearby drinking fountain before setting off check on Quatre.

Trowa wasn't in Quatre's room. Quatre was alone, sleeping restlessly in a bed that looked like a typhoon had hit it. Duo straightened the blankets and smoothed back Quatre's tousled hair. Perhaps sensing that he wasn't alone anymore, the blond man stilled and sank back into a deeper sleep. Duo leaned in close and whispered into his ear: "I'll be back in a few minutes, Quat."

Quatre sighed in his sleep.

Trowa wasn't hard to find. He should have been, what with his ability to fade into the background and to be so quiet and unobtrusive as to be virtually invisible in a crowd, but the hospital was not a crowded place at this early hour.

Duo stepped up to the nurses' station and cleared his throat. "Excuse me, miss," he said in his politest tone, wearing his most harmless-looking smile. He felt badly about the way Trowa had treated her earlier.

For a moment she merely gave him a blank look, but then she seemed to recognize him and gave him a tentative smile. "Yes, what can I do for you?"

He shoved his hands in his pockets so he wouldn't be tempted to make any grand gestures. "I was wondering, have you seen Mr. Winner's friend lately? The one who's a little taller than me, leather jacket, has brown hair like this?" He had to free one hand from his pocket to demonstrate Trowa's hairstyle with his own bangs, but he did it as slowly and carefully as possible.

"Oh..._him_. Yes, I think he went to the visitor's lounge, which is just past the elevators." She gestured down the white corridor with her pen.

Duo gave his most oh-so-very-harmless smile. "Thanks, miss." He turned in the direction she had indicated, wondering how such a timid creature had ended in a job that required nerves of steel.

The visitor's lounge was a glass-walled room that looked more like a human aquarium than a place to relax and gather one's thoughts. It was about the size of a two-patient room and was stuffed with silk plants and the kind of furniture that comes in boxes with ASSEMBLY REQUIRED stamped on the top; the kind of furniture that after having completed the required assembly, always leaves you with one leftover bolt, two unused washers, and a vague sense of worry over whether or not you have followed Step 3 on the instruction sheet correctly or not.

The room also contained Trowa. He was partially screened behind a silk philodendron on an end table, but there was no mistaking that profile. Duo let himself in quietly and sat down in one of the sturdier-looking sofas, which immediately tried to swallow him in its thick stuffing.

Trowa didn't acknowledge his presence and, in fact, appeared to be asleep. He sat slumped in his chair with his legs crossed, head bowed, and arms folded over his chest, as quiet and still as a department store mannequin, but Duo could tell by the absence of eye movement under his closed lids and by the way he was breathing that he was awake. It was a ruse he'd seen before on long passenger flights. It was the body-language version of a 'Do Not Disturb' sign.

Duo did not intend to honor it.

"Trowa?" Duo said, struggling to sit up straight against the grasp of the overly-familiar sofa. It was like trying to wrestle out of a pit of quicksand.

"What." The word came out as hard and flat and hurtful as a bullet from behind the shield of Trowa's hair.

Duo gave up his struggle with the furniture for the time being. So this was how it was going to be, was it? He mimicked Trowa's posture. "Why are you hiding in here? There's a guy down the hall who really wants to see you, you know."

"I'm not hiding. I'm resting."

"Bullshit." Duo tried to prove that he could spit verbal bullets as well as Trowa could, but he wasn't sure that he'd succeeded. He belatedly wished that he'd chosen the austere bent-oak and steel framed chair to his left rather than the cushy sofa to sit on so that he could at least have been seated in a more dignified position. "You're hiding, man. I know hiding when I see it."

Trowa sighed with an air of great patience. "I'm not hiding. I'm just tired and I want some quiet." He moved at last, but that was only to pick up a paper cup from the base of the fake philodendron and raise it to his lips.

Duo recognized the cup as one that came from the machines on the floor that sold hot drinks of unknown origin and dubious soup, and he shuddered in sympathy as Trowa took a sip. He knew from hard experience that no matter what button you punched on those machines, you always got a steaming cup of something that tasted like a blend of instant coffee, bitter tea, overly-sweet hot chocolate, and salty chicken broth. It was not a flavor that one tended to forget easily.

Trowa drank, paused, and dumped the rest of the liquid into the philodendron's plastic container. Duo grinned. "If you think that's bad, you should try the food."

"I'll pass, thanks." Trowa did not sound amused. He lapsed back into his former position and silence, tucking his chin even deeper into his chest.

Duo would have sagged in defeat if the sofa had allowed him to sag. Instead, he let out a gusty sigh that sent his bangs soaring temporarily. He had never understood Trowa. Most of the time he was a nice guy; thoughtful, insightful, and even funny in an understated way. But then there were times like this when he withdrew completely and became a Trowa-shaped block of ice. Duo found it quite maddening. He was good with people. He was not good with blocks of ice.

He made another effort at extricating himself from the sofa, having decided that an unconscious Quatre was better company than a sulking Trowa, but he could only get so far without assistance. That stupid sofa had trapped him. "Trowa? A little help, please?" he begged, waving one hand in the air helplessly.

Trowa opened one eye, examined his friend's situation, and smiled. "They should have a hazard sign on that thing," he said in a more normal voice, and rose to grab Duo's hand. Something large and glossy and square slipped from his lap as he stood, but he discreetly kicked it under another piece of furniture while he hauled Duo out of the Sofa of Doom. "There. Better?"

Duo didn't answer. He was too intent on dropping to his knees to retrieve the large, glossy, square thing from under a blond oak end table to reply. "Sure, thanks," he said as he closed his fingers over the object and pulled it out. He read the title and blinked a few times in disbelief. "And here's the, uh...dog book you dropped."

The large, glossy, square thing was indeed a book, a coffee-table-sized volume printed on thick paper and bound in heavy cardboard. The cover featured a photograph of a lively-looking brown and white cocker spaniel leaping athletically into a Colony sky, only a second away from capturing a flying disk in its open jaws. The dog appeared to be grinning. The book was entitled, 'Purebreds of the Old Earth: Showdogs of the Year, AC 205-206'. Trowa accepted the book with a nod.

"I, uh, didn't know you liked dogs, Tro," Duo said, feeling even more awkward on his feet than he had while engulfed in the man-eating sofa.

Trowa had immediately sunk back into his seat after pulling Duo upright, and he's lapsed back onto his former posture of arms over chest and head down. "I like dogs, I just prefer cats." His voice seemed a little strained to Duo's ear.

Duo pulled his collar back into place and straightened his belt unnecessarily. "I could find you a cat book if you want. It shouldn't be too much trouble."

"No." Trowa reached up with one hand and began to massage his temples, hiding his face with both his hand and his hair. "I don't have to have a cat. A dog will do fine."

"But if you want a cat..." Duo trailed off when he saw Trowa's shoulders heave in a minor convulsion. He swallowed uncomfortably. "Trowa? Are you all right?"

"No." Trowa's voice was tight and hard, and his entire body was shaking with suppressed emotion. "Please, Duo. Go away."

It would have been easy to go away since the tiny, claustrophobic room had only one door and he was standing right next to it, but Duo had a long history of doing things that weren't easy and he wasn't about to break form now. Besides, he hated to see people upset, particularly people he cared about. He rummaged around in his pocket till he found a clean but crumpled paper napkin. "Here, do you need this?" he asked, offering it tentatively to Trowa.

Unsteady fingers snatched the napkin out of Duo's hand. "Thanks, Duo." He raised his head and met Duo's eyes briefly. "I'm sorry, you shouldn't have to be dealing with me like this," he said.

Duo chuckled. "Tro, you're talking to a man who lives with a soap opera junkie. At least once a week I come home to find Hilde sprawled out on the couch bawling her eyes out over some dumb story she saw on the idiot box. Believe me, I'm used to tears." He patted Trowa's shoulder briskly.

"This isn't a soap opera," Trowa said somewhat sharply. He shot Duo a baleful look with an eye that was bloodshot with fatigue and sorrow, but wild with fear and anger. The green iris held a dangerous, inhuman shine. It was not the look of a sane man. "This is my life."

It was hard, but Duo managed to curb his urge to take a step backward. "I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean that as an insult." He paused to find something soothing to say before Trowa got even more upset. "You know Quatre's going to be okay, don't you?"

"I don't know any such thing."

This time, Duo really did take a step back. Who the hell had Trowa been talking to to make him sound so bleak and hopeless? What thoughts were going through his head? Had he been sitting here all night believing that the man he loved was God-forbid _dying_ not twenty paces away while he sat here in solitude? That was certainly how it sounded to Duo's ears. "Trowa, he is going to be okay. You know Quatre, he's a fighter, and he's not about to cave in to some stupid infection...er, Trowa?"

Trowa seemed to have shrunk. He was bent over with his elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands, and he was rocking himself back and forth gently. "I wish he'd just called me," he whispered in a voice that seemed to belong more to a bereaved child than a man of twenty-six. "If he'd called me, I could have helped."

Duo felt a prickling in his eyes and a constriction in his throat to see his friend in such a state. Cool, composed Trowa was crumbling right in front of him, and he didn't know what to do. He took a deep breath and said, "Trowa, please, just come with me and see for yourself. Quatre's going to be fine, but he needs you right now – he needs someone to get better for."

Dead silence filled the little room. Duo forced himself to stay still and let Trowa make the next move. Slow, painful minutes ticked by as the artificial gloom of dawn gave way to the yellowish brightness of full morning, and the sounds of the morning shift change began to penetrate the thick glass. Soon, morning rounds and normal visiting hours would begin and the ward would begin to fill with people and activity. Their short grace period was about to end.

Trowa straightened up in his chair and tossed the rather soggy napkin into a rattan wastebasket. There were no traces of tears on his face at all, and he looked like himself again aside from a certain grim expression around his mouth. He glanced up at Duo with eyes that were only very faintly reddened, but once more calm and rational. "All right, I'm ready," he said.

* * *

Quatre was not sure if he was awake or if he was dreaming, or experiencing both states at once. The concept of 'reality' suddenly seemed to have quite a lot of exceptions and codicils attached to it; it wasn't the absolute that he had once thought it to be.

Every time he opened his eyes, there was a new flower arrangement in the room, a new face, a new event. A pot of African violets with fuzzy leaves and frilled blossoms lurked darkly in a corner like a sleeping animal. He could hear it breathing sometimes in low, threatening growls. He wanted to tell someone to take it away, that it was making him nervous, but there never seemed to be anyone who would listen to him. Although there was nearly always someone in the room, no one ever talked to him--never _to_ him! Oh never! No, they just talked _at_ him, even in his dreams...

"You have to keep your strength up, there's a good boy," said a woman from a Rubens painting as she set a bowl of soup down in front of him. Her voluptuous nudity was covered only in the most transparent whisper of gauze that fluttered around her even through there wasn't so much as a draft in the room.

"No, I can't," he said, averting his eyes from her billowy pink curves and mild eyes. She was probably a Fate, and he thought it might be bad luck to look directly at her. Her gauzy wrap floated over him, covering his mouth and making his breath come short. He leaned forward and coughed, trying to bat the filmy stuff away with his hands. It felt like a death shroud.

"You can. You will," she repeated in Trowa's voice.

Quatre tried. The soup tasted like seawater. He spat it out and looked into the bowl. Beneath the whitecapped surface he could see bones, shipwrecks, and the flotsam of the dead. "This stuff almost killed me once."

The respiratory therapist had no face, just highly reflective oversized spectacles over a white cloth mask. He (she?) had him inhale some noxious medicine that made him cough and cough and cough until tears of pain and effort flowed down his cheeks and he felt the muscles in his chest and diaphragm grow weak with overuse. "It hurts!" he cried out.

The therapist shrugged and moved on to torture another poor soul.

On the windowsill, a vase of slender, elegant irises in royal purple and pale yellow sat next to a cheery knot of pink and white carnations. Quatre watched through a lens of tears as the elite irises drew themselves up and away from the common carnations. The carnations didn't take offense; instead they started up a lively country dance and spun around and around until Quatre became dizzy and had to close his eyes for a moment.

"Can you run? Quatre? Can you run?" The blond woman at the foot of the bed was radiant as an angel, but Quatre could see the shape of her skull behind her face and knew she was a mortal woman long dead. "Can you run? Can you run?"

He sat up and slid out of his bed, made panicky by the feelings of doom that sat on his chest like a great lead weight. He stood up. The floor tilted. He fell. Trowa led him back into bed while he asked him what the hell he'd been thinking. "I _can't_ think. That's the problem," Quatre told him, his words slurred with sleep, drugs and fever.

"I can have you restrained, you know," Trowa said, and that was the end of that.

A three-legged fox limped by, showing off his sharp, bloodstained teeth in a lunatic grin. "If you get caught in a trap, you can always gnaw your own leg off."

"I don't think I can. I don't have your teeth," he pointed out.

The fox limped under the bed and Quatre rolled over to see where it was going, but Wufei pulled him back. "You shouldn't talk to your hallucinations," he said in a matter-of-fact tone as he straightened the blankets. "They won't give you good advice."

Quatre felt beyond tired. The flowers kept multiplying, growing, _looming_. The pain...the pain was doing the same. "Can I sleep, Wufei?"

"You can sleep as long as you like. I will look after your dreams."

"Mercy," Quatre said, and closed his eyes.

* * *

If it was another dream that Quatre segued into, then it was a good dream, and a lucid one. He was still tied to the hospital bed with an intravenous line in his arm, but the bulky oxygen mask had been replaced by less obtrusive tubing that hooked over his ears and ran under his nose. He felt too warm and relaxed to care about anything much. There was another body lying next to his, and he felt the comforting weight of an arm wrapped around his waist. He cracked one eye open a bit and smiled upon seeing a blur of brown hair. "Missed you. Love you." He brushed his own lips against those of his bedmate lightly, then draped himself around the warm, inviting body as closely as his tether would allow.

"Er, I love you too, Quat, but I don't really swing that way."

At the sound of a recognized yet unexpected voice, Quatre shook himself out of his doze and found himself staring into a pair of round violet eyes rather than a catlike pair of green ones. He was fully awake in an instant. "Duo! I'm so sorry!" he apologized as he shrank against the aluminum safety rail on the side of his bed.

Duo, still half asleep, laughed softly. "No need to apologize, Quat. You're a good kisser and I'll give you ten out of ten points for cuddling." He yawned and stretched his arms over his head. A joint in his shoulder popped loudly.

Quatre smiled uncomfortably. "I didn't mean to leech onto you like that. I thought you were Trowa."

"Yeah, I kinda figured that." Duo scratched his ribcage and sat up. "He was in here for a while this morning, but he went out for a walk about an hour ago. He was feeling tense."

Quatre hoped that his face didn't betray the disappointment that he felt in his heart.

"He'll be back soon, Quat," Duo said in a low, kind voice. "He just needed some space. Do you want me to get you something to eat, or a newspaper, or...well, anything?"

That warm tone dragged Quatre out of the pit of self-pity he had been about to wallow in, and he felt a genuine smile forming on his lips. "No, I'm fine." He squirmed involuntarily as he became aware of a nagging discomfort. "Well, except that my bladder is about to explode."

Duo laughed. "Blame me; I was the one who told them to take the catheter out of your tallywhacker. I'd offer to give you a hand, but you're a big boy and like I said, I don't swing that way."

"Well, then help me get untangled from all this...stuff," Quatre said, indicating the oxygen tubing.

Duo shook his head a little, putting his hand to Quatre's shoulder. "Jeez, Quat, you can just use the bedpan, you don't have to--"

"No."

"But--"

"Not open for discussion."

"Fine, ya stubborn bastard," Duo growled good-naturedly, and began helping Quatre remove the oxygen monitor from his finger and the tubing from his face.

Once freed, he insisted on walking to the toilet by himself, using the IV pole to take the weight off of his injured knee. The site of his surgery had been wrapped snugly in a stretchy, supporting bandage, but he still had to lean quite heavily on the castered pole in order to bear his own weight. One wayward wheel on the bottom didn't want to go in the same direction as the other four. Quatre found himself identifying with it.

Feeling oddly breathless once he had made it to the bathroom and had closed the door, Quatre relieved himself quickly and washed his hands. He thought about washing his face too, and decided he was too tired to care about it. Maybe he could talk Trowa into giving him a sponge bath later on. The thought made him grin.

The grin faded as soon as he stepped out of the bathroom and nearly ran into the object of his thoughts. Trowa was not smiling. He was scowling. "What are you doing out of bed?" he asked in a cold voice.

Quatre took a step away from him. Trowa's hair was mussed and windblown and there was a scruff of beard along his jawline, and frankly, he looked a bit demented. His eyes held a broken-emerald flash that meant that he was truly upset with something "I-I was just--" he motioned toward the bathroom door.

Trowa seized him by the arm and marched him back to the bed, where Duo was sitting with a worried look on his face. "Get in, and put the oxygen back on. The alarm went off on your monitor and scared the nurses. Not to mention me."

Oops. Quatre hadn't really considered that. "I'm sorry."

He let Duo help him replace the tubing and the monitor while Trowa paced the room like a caged animal. "What the _hell_ were you thinking? _Were_ you thinking? Do you ever?"

That wasn't fair. "Trowa, it was just a trip to the bathroom! It took two minutes!"

"That's the least of it, and you know it," Trowa hissed. "You forget the innocent act doesn't work on me. Dammit, Quatre, you could have got yourself killed! You're not a terrorist anymore, and you don't have Sandrock and forty trained soldiers watching your back, and even at the top of your training, you could hardly hit what you aimed at. Wufei must have been fucking insane to drag you out there--there are Preventer desk jockeys who could have done the job better than you. You're an engineer, for fuck's sake! You always said you wanted to help rebuild what you destroyed during the wars, so what the hell happened to your pacifist ideals? Is this how you honor your father's memory?"

He suddenly rounded on Duo, who was sitting on the foot of the bed with his mouth hanging open in shock. "And you! You just sit back and let him do whatever he wants, don't you? Trowa's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Best friend, is it? All over him all the time. Don't look at me like that; I've seen you touching him. I know how it is."

Duo looked as infuriated as Quatre felt. "I don't know why you want to drag me into this, Barton, but in case you haven't noticed, I don't bat for your team. I'm Quatre's _friend_, not his goddamn lover, and I'm definitely not his fucking babysitter."

"Well, maybe he needs one," Trowa said, glaring back at Quatre. "He's obviously lacking the common sense needed to take care of himself. He's _always_ needed someone to take care of him. I've been doing it for the last ten years, I should know."

Quatre was utterly speechless. He had never felt so furious and humiliated before in his life. He could feel the hot blood rising in his cheeks, and before he knew it, his right hand had wrapped itself around the handle of his water pitcher.

Right before Quatre could fling the makeshift missile at his lover's head, they heard a soft "ahem" from the direction of the door.

Three pairs of eyes turned in that direction to see a very confused-looking Heero Yuy standing there with a box of chocolates in his hand. "Did I come at a bad time?"

* * *

"Boy, am I glad to see you," Duo said, wrapping his arms gratefully around Heero's shoulders. Startled by the greeting, it was a moment before Heero hugged back. He didn't understand why Trowa had gone off on that completely unfair rant or why he had stormed off afterward, and he'd felt very relieved when Duo had taken the chocolates out of his hands and led him off to a quiet corner of the ward.

"What's going on?" he asked. "You told me things were going well, and Quatre seems to be recovering."

Duo heaved a sigh and let his friend go. "He is, but he's certainly not out of the woods, and Trowa's a fucking wreck."

"Oh." Heero blinked a few times. "He seemed upset. He doesn't usually speak that rashly."

Duo shook his head and made a disgusted noise. "Yeah, that was totally out of line, but he's so scared and worried that he's about to snap. Not like he'd ever think to actually _talk_ about it or anything. I'm getting pretty worn out looking after both of them."

Heero took the hint. "Would you like me to go talk to Trowa?"

Duo nodded wearily. "I'd consider it a personal favor, man. I can't get through to him. Even Quatre makes more sense than he does, and he's been delirious half the time."

"All right. I'll see what I can do."

Duo walked back to Quatre's room while Heero went off in the direction of the visitor's lounge.

Trowa's appearance shocked him. Normally Trowa presented a neatly dressed and groomed image when he went out in public, not this rumpled, and unshaven scarecrow of a man standing stiffly in front of the window. One green eye peered balefully at Heero while the other was covered by limp and rather greasy hair. "Heero. I figured you'd show up around now." He sat down in one of the cheap chairs with his arms crossed over his chest.

Heero chose a seat that was close enough for private conversation, but not so close that he'd threaten Trowa's personal space. "I came as soon as I could. Duo had a hard time getting the news to me since I was in transit with Relena, then I had to find a replacement for myself. You look like shit."

"I imagine I do," Trowa said indifferently.

"When's the last time you slept?"

"I had a nap this morning."

"When's the last time you ate?"

"I got something out of the vending machine an hour ago."

"If your plan is to make yourself sick enough to end up in the bed next to Quatre's, I'd say it's going to start working soon."

Trowa shot him a glare that would have wilted a lesser man. "Was that supposed to be funny?"

"No, just honest."

The two of them stared at each other for a long minute, eyes slightly narrowed and muscles tense, as is the case when two young males are circling one another, deciding whether or not to fight. Heero recognized the behavior, and came to the decision that a long, pitched battle between the two of them would not help resolve anything in this situation. He forced himself to sit back and break eye contact. "You need a wash and a shave. Do you have a change of clothes?"

Trowa paused before answering, regarding Heero suspiciously. "Yes. Why?"

"Because I'd rather not be seen with you in public as you are. You look like a bum."

Trowa blew air out of his nose in a not-quite snort. "Honesty is a fine trait, Heero, but there's also this thing called tact. You should try it some time."

A corner of Heero's mouth turned up. This was more like the Trowa he knew. "That's Relena's department. Go get cleaned up and I'll buy you some lunch."

Once again, Trowa hesitated as he studied Heero's face carefully. He sighed, sounding tired, and then leaned over to retrieve his travel case from under the couch. "Thanks," he said, and wandered away toward the restrooms.

Heero went back to Quatre's room to let Duo know what was going on, but he was a bit surprised to find that Duo, fully dressed except for his shoes, had stretched out on the bed and was holding a sleeping Quatre. "Duo, what are you doing?" he asked quietly.

The ceiling-mounted television set flickered as Duo used the remote control to flip through the channels with his left hand. His right arm was wrapped around Quatre. "Watching TV, what does it look like I'm doing?" Duo replied, equally quietly.

"I think the beds are for patients."

"Yeah, but Quat sleeps easier when someone's holding him. Besides, watching TV from that chair gives me a crick in the neck."

Heero decided it was none of his business. Any problem that the hospital had with it could be dealt with by hospital staff. He said, "Trowa and I are going out to lunch. Want us to bring you anything?"

Duo stopped channel surfing for a moment. "Nah. I need to get going soon. Hunter and Murphy have been alone for three days now, and Hilde's due back from her scouting mission tonight. She'll tan my hide if I'm not there to greet her."

"I see. Is that fish place down the street any good?"

Duo shrugged. "Their roaches look fat and healthy, so they must have good food. Speaking of which, next Thursday is pizza and poker night. You're gonna be there, right?"

"Yeah, sure. I still need to win my money back from Mimi." Heero closed the door on Duo's quiet snickering as he let himself out.

* * *

Heero watched in horror as Trowa drenched his basket of fried clams with vinegar, cocktail sauce, and ketchup, then proceeded to munch away at it with apparent enjoyment. In fact, he was almost wolfing his food, something that he'd never seen Trowa do before.

"You must be hungry," Heero remarked.

"Starved for real protein," Trowa explained through a half-chewed mouthful. "Forgive my manners."

Heero attended to his own meal, eating much more slowly than his dining companion. "What are your plans?" he asked when the edge had been taken off his appetite.

Trowa dragged a French fry through a small puddle of ketchup. "Quatre can be released in a day or two. I'm going to take him home, lock him in his room, and never let him out of my sight again. He'll never pull a stunt like _that_ again." He chuckled darkly.

Heero failed to find the humor in that statement. "I don't think Quatre would appreciate that. He enjoys his freedom."

"Maybe a little too much."

"You're not his keeper."

"I'm entitled. I'm the guy who loves him."

Heero took a sip of his water. "You've taken an academic leave of absence," he said, which caused Trowa to look at him sharply at the change of subject.

"How did you--" he started, then cut himself off with a shake of his head. "Never mind. Heero Yuy knows all, right? Yes, I'm taking leave. I've done it before, and it's never been a problem."

"Are you sure that's for the best?"

"It's the best for Quatre. That's all that matters."

Heero felt a twinge of concern over Trowa's mental state. He was acting far too single-minded, and didn't seem entirely rational, especially on the subject of Quatre. His withdrawal from his studies was worrying as well since Trowa had previously seemed eager, almost impatient, to begin an internship or maybe open up his own small practice. His joke--if that's what it was--about keeping Quatre prisoner was not funny, either. It was gruesome.

Whether he knew it or not, the man needed help. Heero took a business card out of his wallet and wrote a number on the back of it. "This is my private phone. You can call me any time you want. Only you and Relena have that number, and I always answer it. Take it."

Trowa took it. He casually tucked it into the breast pocket of his jacket without looking at it and resumed his attack on his food.

Heero sipped his water again. "You _will_ call me it you have any trouble?"

"Of course."

The promise did not sound sincere.

* * *

Wufei lay stretched out on the sublimely comfortable temperfoam mattress and studied the hotel room's wallpaper. It was a subdued floral pattern done in cream and blue and yellow that reached from the waist-high wainscoting to the white-painted crown molding near the ceiling. It had been hung immaculately and looked quite expensive. Wufei loved it. He also loved the white wainscoting, the coordinated blue carpet, and the king-sized bed, which was covered in a spread that matched the designer wallpaper.

He also loved the white French doors that separated the bedroom from the sitting room, as well as the two velvet-upholstered wingback chairs by the window, the Queen Anne table between them, and the brass standard lamp on the floor.

He'd cleaned himself up in the bathroom earlier, where he'd loved the immaculately clean shower with the brass fixtures and the herb-scented bathstuffs, the thick, fluffy towels, the huge vanity mirror surrounded by flattering warm-toned lights, and the commode with its paper band around the lid proclaiming it had been sanitized for his protection. He'd even been kindly disposed toward the bidet.

When he'd become hungry, he had ordered room service, and enjoyed an appetizer of barbecued tiger prawns with avocado and cilantro dressing, devoured the Danforth Greek salad with pita crisps, feta cheese and lemon oregano vinaigrette, reveled in an entrée of cassoulet of truffled honey squab breast, foie gras and duckfat confit, and had even managed a few nibbles at a divine flourless chocolate macadamia nut torte with blood orange mousse. The 184 Château Lafite Impérial had gone down like ambrosia.

Now, lying robed and sated on the huge bed, he belched mightily and opened up yet another of the single serving bottles of vodka he'd grabbed from the honor bar in the sitting room. He used his Preventer's credit chip to order a couple of premium first-run movies for the evening's entertainment, hesitated, and then added a couple of the better-known adult films starring Minke Fapworth to his rapidly growing tab. He would never watch them, of course, but he wanted to see the look on Morrison's face when he saw them on his expense account.

Wufei slugged back his vodka and sighed contentedly. Living well really was the best revenge.

TBC


	8. Sundering

**Title:** Never Turn Your Back on the Sea  
**Section Title:** Sundering  
**Author:** Alleyprowler  
**Pairings:** 3x4, 2xH and 1xR  
**Ratings/Warnings:** M for language, references to violence

* * *

Two weeks. Two weeks ago Quatre had left his home, only to have his world knocked upside down. Two weeks since all that he thought of as normal in his life had been shaken up and rearranged into strange and uncomfortable new patterns. Two weeks since he had felt anything was constant in his life. Two weeks since Trowa had reached out to him.

Trowa had apologized. He'd sat down heavily at the foot of Quatre's bed when the others had gone away and he'd raked his hands through his bangs, sighed, and muttered that he hadn't really mean the things he'd said. Quatre, in a half-dream due to a fresh load of painkillers in his blood, had simply said, "I understand."

But he didn't, not really, and somehow he'd never gotten another opportunity to talk to Trowa about it. It wasn't that Trowa was inattentive. He was so punctual about mealtimes, medication, and doctor's appointments that Quatre could have set his watch by him, and he wouldn't let Quatre walk very far, lift anything heavy or generally tire himself. He anticipated Quatre's every need and some needs he didn't have, which had been sweet at first, but he honestly thought he would go off the deep end if Trowa asked him if he was hungry or thirsty or cold or whatever one more time. That kind of treatment was really beginning to grate on his nerves. Then, Trowa had decided that he needed to move into the guest room.

Quatre could--and did--sleep alone from time to time, but even during their worst arguments, they had never slept apart voluntarily. Trowa insisted on it, though, saying that sleeping in the same bed might be less restful for Quatre than being alone. It wasn't the case. The fact that Trowa didn't want to sleep with him made him feel like he'd done something terribly wrong.

Quatre closed his eyes. He was beginning to feel a tension headache growing at the back of his neck. Soon Trowa would make his nightly rounds and breeze in to force another sleeping pill down Quatre's throat before hurrying off to his own rooms, and Quatre doubted his ability to slow the purposeful Trowa down long enough to get him to talk.

Not that he particularly wanted to.

He heard footsteps approaching the door, and he straightened up and ran his fingers though his hair in an automatic attempt to make himself look presentable. The footsteps stopped. The door didn't open. Perhaps it wasn't Trowa? "Hello?" he called. "Is anyone there?"

There was no answer. Quatre tried to remember if he'd locked the doors and turned on the alarm system before he'd gone to bed. He probably had; securing the house was as ingrained a habit as brushing his teeth. He held very still for a count of sixty, listening, and when he heard nothing, he relaxed and picked up his dropped papers. _It was the house settling_. _Or maybe a ghost_. But somehow, he didn't really believe either of those explanations.

The door creaked again, and he jumped a little. "Who is it?" he said with a little more volume in his voice. When there was no answer, he set his reading material aside and padded on silent bare feet toward the door. Just as he was reaching for the doorknob, though, the door swung open. "Oh, Trowa," Quatre smiled a little nervously, straightening up from his defensive crouch. "You spooked me. Why didn't you just come in?"

Trowa stood in the doorway as if at attention. His spine was rigidly straight and his gaze was fixed on a spot somewhere over Quatre's shoulder. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"I'm fine, thanks. Why didn't you just come in?" Quatre said, stepping back to let the door swing open all the way. He noticed that Trowa wasn't dressed for bed, in spite of the lateness of the hour. He was wearing black slacks and a dark red dress shirt, and he had oxblood loafers on his feet. "You look nice," he ventured.

Trowa bowed his head slightly, accepting the compliment. His left hand rose as if to touch Quatre's face, but it stopped short and dropped back to his side. "You shouldn't be out of bed, it's chilly," he said instead.

Quatre opened his mouth to argue, but he couldn't think of a single thing to say and so he simply crawled back into the bed with the comforter pooled in his lap. Trowa fussed with the carafe and water glass on a table beside the bed and set out a single blue pill. His movements were a little jerky, as if he was feeling nervous about something. "Trowa, is something wrong?"

Trowa went still. His hands curled into fists at his sides. "I-I have to leave."

"Leave?" Quatre echoed, feeling confused.

"Yeah. I can't stay here any more." He met Quatre's eyes briefly, then looked away.

Quatre felt his own hands go as cold as ice. "Are you going to go see Catherine? Is she all right?"

"She's fine. Not her." Trowa said quickly, as if this was something he had thought about and then dismissed as a bad idea. "I'm going to stay with Heero and Relena for a while…until I can make other arrangements."

The constriction that Quatre felt in his chest had nothing to do with his lingering illness. "Are you planning on coming back?" he asked in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

Trowa shrugged. "I don't know that yet, Quatre. I'm sorry."

"What did I do?" Quatre asked. For the first time since the wars had ended, he felt like crying. "You can at least tell me that."

"You didn't do anything."

"So what's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong."

"You're lying," Quatre spat out. He still felt like crying, but now he was beginning to feel angry as well. He held onto the feeling like a drowning man clutches a lifeline. Anything but tears! "If I didn't do anything wrong and everything is all right, then why are you just walking away from me without an explanation?" He paused to take a breath--his chest felt tight. "And don't give me that 'it isn't you, it's me' line, because I'm not going to believe you."

Trowa's shoulders lifted briefly and then sagged in a weary shrug. "In that case, I don't know what to tell you."

Quatre felt the phantom taste of seawater begin to coat the back of his tongue and the roof of his mouth. Cold, invisible fingers squeezed at his lungs, choking him. He felt his breath beginning to come in short, noisy gasps, but he was damned if he was going to reach for his inhaler and show Trowa how deeply this was actually affecting him. Instead, he took slow, deliberate breaths and forced his voice down into the lower, calmer registers he used when he was dealing with particularly pig-headed bureaucrats. It was his father's voice. "Well then, Trowa, I suppose this is closed for discussion since you seem to have made up your mind already. I'm sure you have given it a good deal of thought and have come to the best decision."

Trowa inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. "I think I have."

The cold fingers tightened around Quatre's lungs, but he refused to cough. He could smell the unpleasant odor of wrack and kelp by now, and the taste of seawater made him want to gag. In spite of that, his tone remained even and calm. "Fine. You'll excuse me if I don't see you out." He turned his attention back to the papers in his hand, but he couldn't read the text. The words swam in his eyes, distorted in a film of tears that he didn't dare shed.

"Goodbye, Quatre," Trowa said, and then he turned and exited the room, closing the door firmly behind him. The snap of the latch rang through the room with an air of finality. It was the sound of something severing.

Quatre let go of the lifeline and let himself sink.

* * *

The light next to the General Director's office door switched from red to green. Wufei checked the knot on his tie, smoothed a hand over his hair, and opened the door. "General Director Une," he said, standing at parade rest in front of her desk

She wasn't paying attention to him, however. She was holding a strand of her long hair in front of her face and staring at it so intently that her brown eyes were nearly crossed. Even for Une, who had a history of strange behavior, this was rather odd.

She found what she was looking for and tweezed a single hair between her thumb and index finger, pulling it out of her scalp with a quick jerk. Wufei winced on her behalf.

"Look at this, Chang. _Look at this!_"

Wufei kept his hands behind his back as he leaned over the desk to examine the hair. He blinked in surprise. "It's white."

"_You_ did this to me, Chang!" She let go of the hair, watching sadly as it fluttered to the surface of her desk.

"My apologies, ma'am."

She dropped her head into her hands and began to massage her forehead. "I don't know what to do with you. You recruited two civilians and provided one with a firearm, said civilian shot and wounded a suspect, both suspects were interrogated before being offered legal counsel, the boy was struck in the face and physically and mentally intimidated, Preventer funds were abused...shall I go on?"

Wufei fought the urge to fidget like a schoolchild who has been called to the front of the classroom. "No, ma'am."

She put her hands down on the desk in a more formal arrangement. "You did, on the other hand, catch Yates and his accomplices and have possibly prevented many deaths by poisoning, for which the people of Earth I'm sure would be very grateful if we could afford to let this go public."

Wufei had to take a moment to unravel that sentence. He decided that it still didn't make any sense. "Ma'am?"

"What I mean," she said, taking a deep, steadying breath, "is that we are having a devil of a time keeping this out of the media. Yates was a prominent man in his colony, and there have been many questions and speculations as to his whereabouts."

Of course there would be, Wufei realized. "I see, ma'am."

"Do you, Chang? _Do you?_"

Wufei thought it would be wise to hold his tongue over what was obviously a rhetorical question.

Une sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. "You're one of my top agents, Chang, and you've been a great asset to the Preventers. You're sharp, conscientious, and your instincts are uncanny. But..."

Wufei sighed inwardly. There was always a 'but'.

She pushed a form across her desk. "Look, here's the list of complaints that Morrison gave me. Recruiting civilians, check..."

"Winner and Maxwell are hardly..."

"Yes, yes, I know that all too well, but the rest of known space doesn't need to know that, do they?"

"I suppose not, ma'am."

"Issuing a firearm without a permit, check."

Wufei shifted his weight from his left foot to his right, desperately wanting to say something in Quatre's defense, but he knew the Lady wasn't going to tolerate any more backtalk from him. He kept his mouth shut.

"Physical and mental intimidation of a suspect--that's a BIG check. That young boy is suffering from post-traumatic stress and Raleigh Yates is still in the hospital recovering from that gunshot wound..."

"It was a flesh wound!" Wufei burst out, unable to hold back any longer. "And all that boy is suffering from is his own cowardice! Ma'am," he added as an afterthought.

The frighteningly calm look Une gave him made him bite his tongue. "Agent Chang, since you are not a doctor, I will ask you to keep your medical opinions to yourself." She pulled the papers back to her side of the desk and began to tear them into long, thin strips.

The action didn't reassure Wufei. "Ma'am? What are you doing?"

"Chang, you and I both know that most of the charges against you in this report are irrelevant, so I'm dismissing them. However, since no one but you and I know the _real_ report, I am going to have to take disciplinary action against you. Both of our careers depend on it."

Wufei saw her point. If the complaints were simply dropped with no follow-up, it would look terribly suspicious for both of them. If the complaints were actually addressed, then both of them would be forced to tell the truth about the Gundam pilots in order to keep Wufei out of prison. This was the best compromise. "I understand, ma'am, and I accept any punishment you see fit."

Une finished shredding the report and smiled sweetly. It made her look younger and guileless and very pretty, and Wufei didn't trust it one bit. "Surrender your Preventer credit chip," she said.

Wufei felt his cheeks grow warm as he took his wallet out of his pocket and fished around for the chip. In hindsight, his two-day spending orgy seemed rather childish. "I apologize for misusing Preventer funds, ma'am, but I--"

She waved her hand carelessly. "I understand. I imagine you wanted one last fling before you were fed to the wolves."

"Well spoken, ma'am."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Chang. You're also on suspension. For a month. On three-quarters' pay."

Wufei blinked again. He wasn't sure he understood. He was getting a full month off duty and his pay was being cut temporarily from quite generous to merely tolerable. "Ma'am? Forgive me, but that doesn't sound like much of a punishment."

Her smile turned cheeky. "Did I forget to mention that you'll be losing your housing subsidy while you're on suspension?"

That was a hard blow, but not totally unexpected. Wufei did some quick mental calculations and decided he'd have enough left over to pay the full rent on his apartment if he dined in more often and didn't purchase any luxuries. "Understood, ma'am."

"And your Preventer's retail discount will be closed to you for the duration," Une said, still smiling sweetly.

Damn. There went the food and clothing budget. Wufei raised his chin and nodded bravely. "Accepted, ma'am." He supposed he could do his own laundry and buy food at the farmer's market. He knew how to cook and wash clothes, after all. Sort of.

"And I'm afraid that if you want to keep your insurance, computer access, and vehicle you'll have to pay for it yourself. That comes to..." she paused while she typed away rapidly on the keypad of her computer. Her eyes widened in mock shock. "Oh dear. I'm afraid it's two thousand sixty credits for the month."

Wufei could feel the blood draining from his face. According to his calculations, that left him with a grand total of ten credits to his name. "Ma'am?"

She rested her chin on her clasped hands. "Is there a problem, _Mister_ Chang?"

"I..." He stopped and swallowed. He was a resourceful person, he could get through this. Somehow. "No, ma'am. There's no problem."

Une gave him a strange look from beneath her eyelashes. "It's during difficult times like these, Wufei, that we should remember that we can always rely on our friends to see us through."

Wufei wondered what the hell she meant by that statement, but his head was still reeling too much to sort it out. "I'll keep that in mind ma'am. If there's nothing else, may I be excused?"

"Certainly."

Wufei couldn't get to the other side of the door fast enough.

* * *

Trowa didn't move when he heard the French doors behind him open and close. He knew who it was. He remained as he was, hunched over with his arms folded on the railing of the balcony and stared out at the growing shadows.

"You must really like this view," Heero said. "You've been staring at it for two days now."

"It's nice," Trowa said with a shrug of indifference. It _was_ nice, he supposed. Instead of a formal lawn, the Peacecraft estate had a natural meadow, which was, at this time of the year, full of startlingly bright alpine wildflowers. Wizened, stunted evergreens sprang up where they could get a roothold in the thin soil. Granite bedrock showed through the grass in several places, which lent contrast to the riot of vegetation.

He jumped when he felt something cold and damp touch his arm, and he looked around to see that Heero was offering him a bottle of beer. "It's local." Heero said as if that was the highest praise one could possibly bestow on a bottle of beer, and for all Trowa knew, it was. Living with Quatre had taught him a great deal about wines, but very little about beer. When he didn't take the bottle right away, Heero made an impatient noise. "I can vouch for it, Trowa. Stop looking at it like it's going to bite you."

Trowa accepted the bottle and took an experimental sip. It was bitter and dark, but he thought it was good. It matched his mood. "Thanks." He peered out from under a curtain of hair at his host and nodded his approval. At first glance, Heero hadn't changed much since they had first met. He was a little taller, his face had matured, and he'd developed better dress sense, but those were superficial things. What struck Trowa most was the change in Heero's attitude. He was no longer the coldly analytical and single-minded soldier he had once been. He had a pensive air around him these days, as if he spent a lot of time observing and analyzing the world around him. Heero was obviously a man who had a lot on his mind.

"So what made you decide I needed a beer?" Trowa asked.

A corner of Heero's mouth twitched up and his eyes took on a slightly amused aspect. "I didn't. Relena did. She thought we needed to do something called 'male bonding'."

Trowa nearly spat out his mouthful of beer. "Male bonding?" The phrase sounded vaguely kinky to him, but he wisely kept that thought to himself. Heero hadn't changed all _that_ much, and he liked his teeth the way they were.

"Guy stuff." Heero said with a shrug. "Shoot some pool, drink beer, belch, scratch ourselves...you know."

Trowa flipped his hair out of his eyes and stared hard at his friend. Perhaps Heero had changed in more ways than he'd thought.

"I think she was joking about those last two," Heero continued, "but we do have a pool table. I can show you how to play if you like."

Trowa moved to go sit in one of the wire-frame chairs on one end of the balcony and set his beer down on a matching small, round table. "Thanks, but I don't feel like playing games."

Heero sat down opposite him. "Yeah, I can tell that." He took a long drink of his beer. "I thought it wouldn't hurt to try, though."

"It was a noble effort," Trowa said, nodding Heero's direction.

Heero saluted back with a brief smile. "If you don't feel like playing a game, maybe you'd like to talk."

"Talk? About what?" asked Trowa, glancing up from his contemplation of the label on his bottle. The condensation on the glass had loosened the adhesive and one corner of the paper was starting to curl up.

"About what's been bothering you so much that you felt had to leave your home, even though that decision has obviously made you miserable," Heero said bluntly.

Trowa felt like he had been slapped, but he didn't allow himself to show Heero how stung he felt. "Heero," he said, "how would you feel if Relena got hurt, and got sick, and almost died because you weren't there to protect her?"

Heero considered his friend's question carefully. "I'd feel awful."

Trowa nodded. "That's how I feel. Awful. Whenever I think about him and what could have happened, I get so scared that I want to run screaming. There were times when I was convinced I was going to lose my mind." He closed his eyes and winced a little. The admission of his strong feelings was something he had been trying to avoid, which was why had chosen to turn to Heero for shelter. In his experience, Heero believed in _following_ emotions; he didn't believe in prying them out of people. It was almost like a personal code of ethics with him to refrain from judging other people's private thoughts.

That was why it startled the hell out of Trowa when he said, "You got scared, so you ran away? Since when are you such a coward, Barton?"

Trowa bristled. "Excuse me?"

Heero sat back comfortably in his chair and kicked his feet up on the little table between them. "Got your attention, didn't I?" he said with a crooked little smirk.

Trowa regarded his friend with a wary eye. "How much of that stuff have you had to drink?"

Giving a small, careless shrug, Heero held up his beer bottle and misquoted, "_In cervesia veritas_. I figured it would open you up."

"I should have known. That's one of Quatre's favorite interrogation techniques." He picked up his half-empty bottle with a sigh. "Might as well get this over with then," he said before tipping it to his lips and draining it in four large swallows.

Heero chuckled softly. "My intention was to open you up, not let you get sick all over my balcony. Slow down."

Chastened, Trowa began to tear the label off of the front of his beer bottle. He was convinced that if he got the entire square of paper completely off the damp surface of the glass without tearing it that he would get through this conversation without breaking down. That was the last thing he wanted to do. He knew that it didn't really matter and that Heero wouldn't think any less of him if he did lose control, but Trowa would think a little less of himself if that happened, and he wasn't very pleased with himself to begin with. He didn't know if he could stand another blow to his self-esteem.

"You're thinking about something." Heero observed.

Trowa glanced up at him, found he couldn't quite meet his friend's eyes, and went back to staring at his bottle. "How do _you_ do it, Heero? How do you cope?"

"I don't quite get what you mean."

The label was now halfway off the bottle, and undamaged. "It seems to me that we're in the same situation as far as our choice of life partners goes. We've both chosen people who are far more social than ourselves, who are highly visible, and who are seen as enemies by very powerful people. We're responsible for their safety, which can be threatened in so many ways…" Trowa stopped and cleared his throat. There seemed to be a lump in it. "There are so many ways that both Quatre and Relena could get hurt that I just can't get my head around it. When I was a kid I used to think that I was pretty good at protecting people, but now that I've grown up some, I'm starting to see how impossible it is to protect even _one_ person."

Heero was silent for so long that eventually Trowa looked up to see if he'd fallen asleep. He hadn't. His dark blue eyes were wide open and staring hard at his friend. "Trowa…you have issues."

Trowa snorted. "Tell me about it."

"I _will_ tell you about it." Heero leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table, nearly invading the large bubble of 'personal space' that Trowa nearly always protected himself with. "You are possibly the most egotistical person I've ever met."

The paper label that Trowa had been so meticulously peeling from his nearly empty bottle tore in his hands. "What?"

"Do you even listen to yourself?" Heero asked with what might have been incredulity, but it was hard to tell with him. "You're beating yourself up because you aren't some all-knowing, all-seeing avenging angel type from a Gothic romance whose life duty is to protect some kind of fragile little demigod who was born to save the world. No wonder you're depressed."

That did it. In a flash of anger, Trowa shoved his beer bottle down onto the concrete floor of the balcony, where it shattered into several sharp pieces. The yeasty dregs of beer tainted the cool evening air. "I didn't come here to be insulted, Yuy."

Heero ignored the glass, the noise, and the outburst. "You're just a human being, you know. So is Quatre. So are Relena and I. It's nothing to be ashamed of, but it's nothing to be particularly proud of, either."

Humiliated by his childish show of temper, Trowa retreated to the safety of taciturnity. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't play dumb with me. It's a waste of time." Heero said sharply. He seemed to regret it almost immediately, took a breath and continued on in a calmer tone of voice. "Look, I know we're covering a touchy subject here. Your anger is perfectly understandable."

"Perfectly understandable," Trowa said sarcastically, looking at the mess he had made at their feet. He desperately wanted something to fidget with.

"It's just glass. It'll sweep up. Here, I'll even get you another bottle to break." Heero's chair made a scraping sound as he pushed away from the table and rose to go inside.

"You don't have to…"

Heero cut him off. "I need another one. This isn't easy for me, either."

* * *

Relena was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for a salad, when Heero was making his beer run. He hadn't really noticed how bad his mood was until he saw her standing there, her light brown hair tied back casually in a loose pony tail, humming some popular song to herself while she diced celery. Seeing her like that made the black cloud hovering over his head begin to break up and blow away.

"Lena," he said by way of greeting. He put an arm around her waist and squeezed briefly.

She flashed him a smile that faltered a bit as she studied his expression. "Is everything going all right?" she asked.

"I guess so." He squeezed her waist again and planted a kiss on her ear before turning toward the refrigerator. "We're doing the male bonding thing you suggested and it's getting a little uncomfortable."

"I take it that you got Trowa to talk a little, then."

He twisted the top off of a fresh bottle of beer and handed it to her, then fished two more out of the refrigerator. "I'm still working on it, but I don't know how well I'm doing. I'm not really cut out for this kind of thing, Lena."

"I know, Heero." She sighed softly. "It's never easy to try to deal with someone else's problems." She stopped and lowered her gaze to the floor. "But Trowa came to you because you're honest and because he trusts you."

Heero shook his head. "I don't think so. I think he came to me because he thought I would just leave him alone and not ask him any difficult questions."

Relena thought that over quietly. She was, after all, the one who had suggested that Heero try to get Trowa to actually _talk_ about his problems rather than mope around the estate like some clinically depressed ghost. "You may be right," she admitted. "I don't know him as well as you do. But still, Heero, he has been a very good friend to you and he's saved your life more than once."

Heero nodded once in reluctant agreement before offering his wife an ironic smile. "Life was so much simpler when it was just allies and enemies, wasn't it?"

Relena echoed his smile. "Welcome to the real world, my dear."

* * *

Wufei laid his head down on his desk and wondered how he had come to this.

Sixteen days ago he had been gainfully employed as an elite peacekeeper with power, influence, and a strong support system. Then he'd been demoted to a glorified copy boy. Now he was on the verge of being homeless.

He drew a deep breath and raised his head slightly to look at the computer screen. There was a spreadsheet displayed there, full of numbers as spreadsheets are wont to be, and the number at the very bottom was shown in red with a negative sign in front of it. As far as negative numbers went, it was quite large.

He whimpered ever so slightly and looked up and down the EXPENSES column. He supposed he could do without unlimited Ultranet access for a month, and if he walked everywhere and skimped on food and power usage..._damn, who am I fooling? I need a loan or a miracle._

The red light on his vidphone began to blink rapidly. Wufei stared at it for a while, wondering if the bill collectors were after him already, before he realized that he knew the name and number of the caller. He sat up straight and pressed the button that received the call. "Chang here. Hello, Winner."

The video did a slow fade-in, revealing Quatre from the shoulders up. "Hi, Wufei. I'm sorry to call so late, but I haven't had an update in a few days, so...ah, how are things going?"

Wufei nearly smacked himself on the forehead. "I'm sorry, Quatre, it's been rather hectic lately and I completely forgot."

"Oh. I didn't mean to bother you. You look...stressed. Are things going badly?"

Wufei tried to sit up straighter and look more professional, but his efforts seemed worthless once he got a better look at Quatre's uncombed head and unsmiling mouth. "I could ask the same of you. You look like you've been pulled through a jet intake backwards."

Quatre ran a hand through his hair self-consciously. It did nothing to settle the blond tangles. "I have a feeling we're both in the same boat. Why don't you go first?"

Wufei figured that his pride could take one more blow before he resigned himself to living in a packing crate for a month. He turned his laptop around so that it faced the vidphone camera. "Director Une decided that I needed to be convincingly disciplined. This is the result."

It didn't take a financial genius to see Wufei was in deep, deep trouble. "Wow. I'd hate to see what happens when she's _really_ angry," Quatre said, sounding impressed.

"Yes, well before I make a completely undignified appeal to you for a loan, I suppose you'd better tell me your problems."

"Trowa left me two days ago."

The lack of preamble made the words register in Wufei's brain about two seconds later than they should have, and it took him another two seconds to formulate a reply. "Why?"

Admittedly, it wasn't a _good_ reply.

"It wasn't me, it was him." Quatre was obviously trying to sound ironic, but there was a rough edge to his voice and he couldn't quite pull it off.

"Oh."

"He's staying with Heero and Relena."

"Why?"

"I guess they're too discreet to ask too many questions. I don't really know."

"That could be," Wufei said. He thought about Une's odd parting words to him a couple of days previously: _It's during difficult times like these, Wufei, that we should remember that we can always rely on our friends to see us through._

She had known. Less than a day back on the job, she had known. Damn that woman.

Quatre went on: "It wouldn't be so bad, except Mrs. Charles--our house manager--is on family leave and Rashid won't let me come back to work so I'm not exactly speaking to him and Duo and Hilde are really busy and I don't really have anyone close enough to vent to, and I suppose that's why I called so late. I needed to get it out. I'm sorry, Wufei. I'll SecureMail you two thousand credits in the morning. Good night."

"Wait!" Wufei nearly shouted.

Quatre froze with his finger bare millimeters away from the cutoff button. "What is it?"

"Don't send me any money. I can cover my rent for the month."

Quatre's finger retreated a little more. "Yes, but you can't cover anything else. How will you live?"

Wufei smiled. Perhaps Une wasn't as demented as he'd thought. "After all I've been through, I think I deserve a vacation. The least you can do is let me stay with you till I can go back to work."

Quatre blinked twice. "You want to come over here?"

"Sure. I need a damn break, and it sounds like you could use some company. Any objections?"

"Well...I suppose not."

"Fine. I'll be there in twelve hours."

"But--"

Wufei hit the cutoff switch and went to his bedroom to pack.

* * *

"Here."

Trowa came out of his own thoughts at the sound of Heero's voice. He looked up to see that his friend had a couple of beers in one hand and a whiskbroom with a dustpan in the other. He took the former in one hand and looked questioningly at the latter.

"You threw the bottle; you clean it up."

That was fair enough, Trowa supposed. He carefully picked up the larger pieces of glass and deposited them in the dustpan before using the broom to sweep up the loose splinters.

Heero watched as he settled down in his chair. "You asked me how I coped," he said as he twisted the cap off his bottle.

"What?"

"Before I made you angry, you asked me how I coped knowing that Relena could be targeted at any time. I never got around to answering you."

"I see." Trowa swept the last of the glass into the pan and set it aside for later disposal. "So how do you do it?"

Heero took a sip to wet his throat. "I do my best to keep her safe. The short list is this: I practice self-defense with her on a regular basis; I make sure she's wearing her body armor when she makes public appearances; I hand-pick her security staff; I personally inspect all of her vehicles; and I stay close by her side when I feel we're in a high-profile situation."

Trowa nodded at the familiar-sounding list. "Yes, those are pretty much the same things Quatre and I do. It still didn't help him when he nearly got killed during a routine business transaction and then got so sick playing vigilante."

"Playing vigilante? That's an interesting choice of words coming from you."

Trowa had the sneaking suspicion that he was about to let Heero make him angry again. He took a calming breath of the cool, fragrant evening air and let the growing tension in his neck and shoulders melt away. "There was no need for him to get involved in catching Ervy and Yates. Wufei and Duo could have handled it."

"Maybe, but they felt that Quatre had a right to be involved and they welcomed his help when he offered it. They trusted him…unlike you."

That hurt. Trowa tried to keep it out of his face, but the accusation was so sudden that he couldn't help flinching. "I _do_ trust him," he said mulishly, and began to pick at the label on the new bottle again.

"No, I don't think you do. I was there with you two at the hospital when you tore into him. You treated him like he was incompetent and stupid, and you belittled him in front of his friends, which must have hurt him. Then you implied to me that he couldn't even take care of himself, and yet now you say you trust him? You can't have it both ways. Pick one."

Trowa had nothing to say to that. _It's true…God help me, it's true_.

"What's really ironic is that if you have been in his shoes, you would have done exactly the same things he did. Wouldn't you?"

"I would." Trowa said quietly, feeling defeated.

Heero must have picked up on his tone of voice or his slightly slumped posture, because he leaned across the table and put a hand on Trowa's arm. "There wasn't anything you could have done."

"I'd have pulled him out of the action sooner. He was ill!"

"Trowa, the type of infection he has doesn't become acute for several days. None of them realized how sick he was until he collapsed. Even Wufei thought it was just a cold, and he's had all kinds of medical training since joining the Preventers. Besides, do you really think either of them would have let Quatre go on if they had suspected he was really ill?" Heero's tone had turned slightly accusing once more.

That thought honestly hadn't occurred to Trowa before. Duo, loyal to a fault, would rather cut off his own braid than let the man he loved like a brother endanger himself unnecessarily. Wufei would definitely not have let Quatre remain in the action if he'd thought he was seriously ill or injured. "So, are you saying that maybe Quatre himself didn't realize how sick he was?" he asked, speaking very slowly.

"He _didn't_ know." Heero said. "I asked him."

"You did?"

Heero nodded. "He was more concerned that his injured knee might slow him down than anything else. He wasn't worried about what he called 'some stupid cough', he was worried about catching the man who had tried to kill him and ruin Duo's reputation."

Trowa, not knowing what to say, took a long drink of his beer and then cradled the bottle to his chest. Heero chuckled at him.

"I see that you're having an epiphany about your boyfriend, lover, or whatever you call him."

"Partner," Trowa said absently. The label on the bottle had suddenly become fascinating again. He was indeed having a few second thoughts about Quatre's motivations…and his own. "He's my partner."

* * *

Wufei strolled toward the townhouse slowly, taking time to admire the fresh green of the grass and the white flowers on the dwarf apple trees. Spring could come even to the Colonies if one was able to afford it.

He climbed the three steps of the broad front porch and shrugged the strap of his duffle bag higher on his shoulder. A plaque by the white front door had the address stamped on it, and underneath in bold copperplate lettering were the names T. Barton and Q. R. Winner. _At least Quatre hasn't scratched his name out yet_, he thought with some amusement, which quickly turned into a vague sense of guilt. He was supposed to be helping, not making fun.

He rang the doorbell and heard the chime of it faintly through the thick wood, and took a step back while he waited. Presently the door cracked open just wide enough to allow a cautious eye to peer through it. "Wufei?"

"You were expecting someone else?" Wufei asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, sorry. I lost track of time. Come in." The door swung wide open, revealing a rather dark entry hall and a rumpled figure standing just inside. Quatre wasn't smiling, as he usually did when greeting someone. His baggy, bottle-green corduroy trousers were wrinkled, his clashing blue pullover appeared to have coffee stains on it. His hair was frankly greasy and hung in limp strands around a face that still hadn't seen a razor in several days. Wufei was alarmed.

"Quatre, are you all right?" He put a hand on Quatre's shoulder.

Quatre nodded and headed off toward an arched doorway to the left of the entry hall. It was the main living space on the ground floor, a big, comfortable room with a sound system, a large video screen, a collection of books, and well-made but casual furniture. Wufei slipped his shoes off before he entered and set down his duffle bag and laptop case, propping both against the wall in the entry hall.

"Come in, sit down," Quatre said in a dull, almost robotic voice. "Can I get you some coffee? I think Mrs. Charles left some scones or something in the freezer if you want, or I could heat up some--"

"Quatre, shut up."

Quatre's teeth clicked together audibly as he closed his mouth.

"Are you well? I want an honest answer."

Quatre nodded slowly. His gaze shifted down and to the right, indicating that he was telling the truth, but with some reservation.

"Has your strength returned?"

"Mostly." Quatre looked back up, meeting Wufei's eyes.

"Is your knee giving you any trouble?"

"It's stiff on cold mornings, but it's almost healed."

Wufei smirked, satisfied that Quatre was indeed well enough for what was coming. "Good. Think fast." He balled up his right fist and threw a punch at Quatre's face.

TBC


	9. Reaching

**Title:** Never Turn Your Back on the Sea (9?)  
**Section Title:**Reaching  
**Author:** Alleyprowler  
**Pairings:** 3x4, 2xH and 1xR  
**Ratings/Warnings:** M for language, references to violence

* * *

Relena stepped through the French doors and onto the balcony, taking a deep breath as she did so. It was still chilly in the evenings this time of year, but the air was clear as can be and scented with pine, cedar, and the newly-born wildflowers that grew all around the estate. She surveyed the darkening sky, not looking at the lanky figure sprawled out on a wrought iron chair to her left. "Nice evening," she said softly, as if to himself. She wanted to give Trowa the option of ignoring her; if he did, then Relena would leave him alone. If he didn't, then...

"Yeah. You missed a great sunset."

She shrugged. "I've seen a lot of sunsets. I hope I'll see a lot more." She walked to the stone railing and leaned against it, and they were silent for a while.

It was almost fully dark when Trowa said, "I guess I know why you're here."

A breeze blew a strand of hair across her eyes as she turned to face him. "Oh?" she said, dashing it away and tucking it behind her ear.

There was a scraping sound as Trowa pushed back his chair. "You're going to ask me to leave. I understand. I'm not the greatest houseguest in the world."

Relena was startled into a bark of laughter; she hadn't been expecting _that_. "Oh, Trowa, no! That's not what I wanted to talk about at all!"

When he heard her laugh, he raised his head and she could feel his cool green gaze on her. "No?"

She laughed again, more naturally this time. "Of course not! Trowa, as far as I'm concerned, you can stay here till you're old and grey. As for not being a good houseguest, goodness! The _mice_ are more of a bother than you are."

She heard him take in a breath as if he wanted to say something, but no words were forthcoming. She waited patiently. Years of living with Heero had taught her the value of silence, of allowing time for thought before speech. She only wished that the politicians she worked with on a daily basis could learn the same lesson.

"Well, then," Trowa said at last, "is there something I can do for you?" He sounded sincere.

Relena smiled warmly. Before this crisis, she had rarely had a chance to speak to Trowa alone and hadn't really had a chance to form a strong opinion of his personality, but after a week of brief but daily interaction with him, she found she had grown quite fond of him. When he wasn't engaged in heavy-duty sulking, he was very sweet, warm-hearted, quietly funny, and very thoughtful. However, the sulking part only seemed to get worse after his talk with Heero, not better. It was starting to concern her.

"There's nothing I need from you, Trowa, but maybe there's something you can do for yourself." She turned away from the railing and made an 'after you' gesture toward the French doors.

He took the cue and stood up, holding one of the doors open long enough for her to step through into the warmth of the carpeted corridor. He made sure they were securely shut before turning toward her with an expectant look on his face.

Now that he was in the light, Relena could see the bruised-looking patches of skin under his eyes. The mark of the veteran insomniac, she thought to herself, and smiled in sympathy. "Let's go to your room," she said, and had to giggle when she saw him raise his eyebrows. "Oh come on, I won't bite."

He smiled back and led the way to his room, which was really more of a suite. It wasn't as large as the rooms that she shared with Heero, but it was certainly spacious and luxurious enough to satisfy a visiting diplomat...or an old friend.

She left the door open behind them. Regardless of their sexual orientation, it wasn't proper for a married lady to be alone behind closed doors with a young gentleman, and besides, she didn't plan on being in there that long.

She motioned him toward the lounge area, which was a cozy room with a fireplace, a pair of matching leather sofas, a media center hidden away discreetly inside an antique mahogany credenza, and a quaint cherrywood rolltop desk. It was to the latter that she led him. It wasn't dusty, thanks to the attentions of the housekeeping staff, but it had an air of neglect about it that made Relena feel a little sad. It was such a cunning bit of carpentry that it was a shame it never got used but she intended to remedy that.

"When I was eight years old my mother gave me a diary to write in, and in a way it was the most wonderful gift I've ever received. I wrote in it every day; my dreams, little stories and poems, any problems I might be having, and I discovered that writing is a wonderful way to soothe your mind and organize your thoughts. Please sit down."

Trowa seated himself in a padded oak chair that matched the desk. "Yes, I've heard that writing is good therapy," he said, moving the chair out of her way on its old brass casters.

Relena rolled back the top of the desk, revealing a flat work surface surrounded by cubbyholes for office supplies. From one such hole she removed a quantity of stationery, and from a small drawer, a gold fountain pen. "Sometimes, when I got angry or upset at a specific person, I'd write them a letter. I didn't always send the letters, but I found that the act of writing helped me sort out my feelings. In any case, I nearly always found that I came to a better understanding of that person and of my own feelings toward them."

She looked at him and saw that he was staring at her very intently. It made her feel like an insect pinned to a card under a magnifying glass. Her breeding and upbringing didn't allow her to show her discomfort, but Trowa must have sensed it anyway, for he looked down at his hands and nodded slightly. "I see what you're getting at, but I don't think I can do that."

"The letters are yours until you send them. If you don't want to send them, you can rip them up, or throw them into the fire, or take them down to the shooting range and use them for target practice." She was heartened when she got a little smile for that last suggestion. "I really think it could help you, Trowa."

He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, then looked down at the pen and stationery. "Maybe you're right, Relena. It can't be any worse than sitting around and feeling sorry for myself. I'll try."

Surprising both herself and Trowa, Relena bent down and kissed him on the cheek. It was a chaste, sisterly kiss, but a kiss all the same, and she felt her cheeks grow warm. It wasn't like her to be so impulsive. She backed away a step or two, bowing her head to hide her blush. "Good night," she said softly, and turned to go.

"Good night, Relena. And thank you."

As she closed the door behind her, she heard the rustle of paper, and she smiled.

* * *

The punch almost landed, but at the very last second Quatre's arm came up and he deflected the blow with his wrist. He did the same with Wufei's second punch and sidestepped the foot that would have knocked him off balance if it had succeeded in catching him behind the ankle.

The heavy draperies in the room had been pulled and the lighting was dim, but Wufei could see Quatre's face going red. "What the hell's the matter with you! Have you lost your damn mind?" Quatre shouted as he blocked and dodged.

"Fight back!" Wufei demanded.

"You're crazy!"

Wufei bared his teeth in a sharklike grin and threw another flurry of punches at Quatre, all of which were expertly deflected. He was pleased to see that Quatre had kept up with his training. "Your footwork has improved," he said.

"My _footwork_!" Quatre bellowed, outraged. "Wufei, what is the big idea with barging in here and attacking me like a psychopath and then complimenting my damn footwork! You really must be--OW!"

Wufei's strike to Quatre's ear had been more luck than anything else, but Wufei wasn't about to let him know that. "Are you going to fight me back now, or shall we dance a little more?" he taunted.

That did it. The final button had been pushed. With a berserker cry of battle rising in his throat, Quatre charged.

* * *

Trowa looked at his watch and groaned out loud. It was nearly midnight and he hadn't done anything to the stationery aside from admire the workmanship of the hand-crafted paper. It was thicker than normal paper, with a slightly uneven surface and deckled edges, and it was a pale beige color that reminded him of oatmeal. On each sheet, a winding ivy vine was rubber-stamped down one side of the paper, and Trowa had spent an inordinate amount of time trying to decide whether the vine should go down the right or left hand side. He had flipped it over at least a hundred times, visualizing his narrow, backslanted handwriting across the pebbled surface, and had finally decided that the vines should go down the right hand side of the paper.

_I'm procrastinating,_ he thought. _Since when have I ever procrastinated before? I can write whatever I want and then throw it in the fireplace. No one will ever have to know._

He took a breath and touched the fine gold nib of the pen to the paper and wrote down the first thing that came into his head:

Dear Quatre,

I love you. I miss you. I'm sorry.

He set the pen down. He looked down at the nine words he had written and felt a strange, sick feeling beginning to grow in his chest.

_That was an utterly pathetic attempt at expressing yourself, Barton,_ he told himself, wadding the paper up into a ball. He pulled out another sheet of stationery.

_Dear Quatre, _

I probably don't have the right to address you as 'dear' but in spite of all the things that have gone on between us lately, you are still dear to me. I wanted you to know that before I wrote anything else, and I wanted to put it first before I lost my nerve.

I also want you to know that I realize I've been a fool, a coward and a liar.

I don't know how to explain why I treated you the way I did, but I'll try. You see, before I met you, I didn't know fear. It wasn't an emotion I could afford, given my circumstances. In order to fear, you have to have something of value to lose, and I had nothing--not even my own life was valuable enough for me to fear losing it.

Meeting you changed all that. While I merely existed, you were alive, radiant with light and joy. And you reached out to me. At first, I thought that was a strange thing to do, but now I know that that kind of courage is the best there is. I'm sorry I kept you waiting so long before speaking. I'll always be grateful that you did wait for me.

You never seemed to question it when I gradually warmed up to you and became your friend, your lover, your partner. You never pushed it or turned away from it; you simply accepted whatever I was ready to give until I eventually learned to love life almost as much as you do. I can never thank you enough for that Quatre. You taught me how to live, and for that I am eternally in your debt.

But with that new life came fear, because then I had something to lose. I suddenly had a future, and a purpose, and most of all, I had you.

I've been scared by plenty of things since I met you, but when I saw you lying there in the hospital so sick and still...I don't know how to describe it. What I felt went beyond fear. I wanted to take you away right then and there; take you away and hide you someplace safe and never let you go. At the same time, I wanted to run away and never look back because dammit, you betrayed me! You were the one who was supposed always be there for me, whole and sound. Not lying there in a hospital bed hooked up to machines to help you breathe, but by my side-- always by my side.

As for those awful things I said to you, I really don't have any excuse. I wasn't trying to provoke you or make you angry with me, I really wasn't. I was trying to break you, to plant doubts in your mind and make you more docile. More compliant. I thought maybe if you doubted yourself and depended only on me, I could keep you safe. Then when you came home, I kept it up. I fed you, medicated, you, made sure you were safe as well as I could, but I retreated emotionally and physically. For that, I am truly sorry. I tried to keep you safe and in the name of safety, I almost broke your spirit.

Quatre, I would give anything to be able to take back what I did to you at the hospital and after. I'm not looking for forgiveness. I need to know that you're getting on with your life and continuing to heal. I don't care if you never want to see me again; as long as you're still the Quatre I knew. I loved you the best I could and in the process, I nearly destroyed you. Please let me know that I didn't succeed.

Love,

Trowa

Trowa leaned back in his chair and put the cap back on the pen. His eyes were burning and blurred with fatigue, but his heart felt lighter than it had in weeks.

He gathered up the three sheets of paper he'd written on and stacked them neatly, intending to toss them into what remained of the fire, but instead of throwing them into the embers, he simply set them back down on the desk.

The letter would burn just as well another day.

* * *

The dark room was silent save for the sound of panting. The furniture was in disarrangement, and one decorative table was smashed to pieces, but the two human occupants were relatively unharmed, albeit sweaty and mussed.

"I'm sorry about the table, Quatre," Wufei panted.

Quatre, who was lying on the floor trying to catch his breath, looked at the pieces and pulled a frown. "Damn. I really liked that table."

"Was it expensive?"

"No, but it really pulled the room together."

Wufei chuckled wearily from his prone position near the fireplace. He labored to his hands and knees, then sat back on his heels with a sigh. "My hair tie snapped," he complained, shoving the wayward strands of jet-black hair behind his ears.

"We'll find something." Quatre sat up and grimaced, rubbing his spine. "Ow."

"Sorry about your back, too."

"My back was the table's fault. Technically, you've already apologized for that."

Wufei chuckled. "Right. Is there anything to drink around here?"

"I'll get us some juice." Quatre hauled himself off the floor with the aid of the sofa and limped off in the direction of the kitchen.

While he was gone, Wufei took the opportunity to tie back the heavy blue draperies on the two large windows and let some light into the room. The damage looked a little worse in the Colony daylight, but not irreparable. Well, except for the table. Sometime during their skirmish Quatre had managed to land a stockinged foot on a glossy trade magazine left carelessly on the floor and had lost his balance just as Wufei was aiming a high kick at his shoulder. The glancing blow and the lack of friction had sent Quatre into a spectacularly long-drawn-out battle against momentum and gravity, but eventually he had given into the laws of physics and landed right in the middle of the small, spindle-legged side table, smashing it to bits.

Wufei picked up the magazine and put it in a wicker basket next to the sofa where he presumed it belonged, then set about picking up the other odd bits of debris that had gone missing from their proper places.

"Oh, hey, you don't need to do that," Quatre said. He had returned from the kitchen with two tall tumblers of orange juice in his hands.

Wufei took one of the glasses and swallowed half its contents in a series of large gulps. He was parched. The canned air of the shuttle had dried him out quite a bit even before the exertion of the fight, and he felt new strength surge though his body as his tissues absorbed fluids and vitamins. "I'm partly responsible for it. I don't mind cleaning up after myself."

Quatre restrained him as he bent down to pick up a dislodged sofa cushion. "But you're a guest. Besides, Mrs. Charles will...um...ah, crap, I keep forgetting." Quatre threw himself down in a chair with a huff.

"She's not here," Wufei said, bending down once again. "You'll have to learn how to take care of yourself."

He was taken by surprise as a half-empty glass of orange juice went sailing over his head so close to his scalp that he could feel his hair ruffling. The glass exploded against the wall behind him, sending crystalline shards and sticky orange liquid flying everywhere, including onto Wufei's back.

"Fuck you Wufei!" Quatre shouted.

Shocked, Wufei looked up to see that Quatre was standing by the fireplace, his face contorted with rage and his hands balled into fists. He looked like murder incarnate. "What's wrong?" he asked in utter confusion.

"I know exactly how to take care of myself! How dare you! How fucking _dare_ you!" Quatre took a step forward, eyes blazing with cold blue fire. "I don't need a goddamn babysitter, Wufei, and I sure as hell don't need a substitute lover! If that's what you're here for, then get the fuck out!"

Wufei felt his jaw drop. "Winner, what the hell are you talking about?"

"I don't need you to look after me! I don't need _anyone_ to look after me! And if you think I'm a bad shot, then--" Quatre made a lunge for the mantelpiece and picked up a heavy bronze paperweight in the shape of a toad. As Quatre cocked back his arm, Wufei felt an imaginary target on his forehead burn.

He swallowed and heard a dry click in his throat. "Quatre, put that thing down. I'm not here to hurt you."

Quatre's arm was shaking, but his aim remained true. "No. You're here to protect me," he said, spitting out the word 'protect' like it was an obscenity.

Wufei held his hands up, palm-out. "I'm here to keep you company. That's all."

At the sign of surrender, Quatre let his right arm droop. The brass toad dropped safely to the carpet with a dull thud, and Wufei let out a sigh of relief. "I don't need someone to look after me," Quatre reiterated in a much quieter, but still hard voice.

"No, you don't."

"I can take care of myself."

"I know. Why do you keep saying that?"

"Trowa said..." Quatre's voice faltered. "Never mind."

Wufei got cautiously to his feet. "Trowa said what?"

Quatre raised a hand to his forehead and rubbed his temples. "I'd rather not talk about that right now. It's bad...bad memories, that's all."

Wufei laughed at himself silently. His carefully-plotted fight had failed, but his random comment had succeeded wildly...so much for his sense of strategy. He took a few steps toward Quatre and placed a cautious hand on the blond man's shoulder. "I know all about bad memories and regrets," he said carefully, and felt Quatre's shoulder tremble under his hand. "We all have them, Quatre."

Quatre bent to pick up the brass toad and put it back on the mantle. "God, Wufei, I'm so sorry."

"For what? For having bad memories?"

"For losing control." Quatre folded his arms across his chest and tucked his hands under his armpits as if he didn't trust them not to act of their own accord.

Wufei chuckled. "What do you think I was trying to do when I came in here swinging?"

"To tell you the truth, I thought you'd lost your mind," Quatre said with a faint smile.

"You should know me better than that," Wufei said, but his own smile faded. "You're choking, Quatre. I've seen it in your face for some time now. Something inside is poisoning you, and you'll never get better if you don't get it out."

Quatre flopped down in the armchair again, looking as boneless as if he'd been filleted. "Trowa said some things to me at the hospital. Really spiteful things, intended to hurt me. And they did. Later on he said he didn't really mean them, and I said I understood. I guessed that he felt angry and frightened when he said them and sometimes we say things we don't mean when we're angry and frightened, like I did just now."

"You're making excuses." Wufei checked the sofa for glass, and finding none, settled himself against the cushions.

"I'm trying to make sense of it."

"Make sense of a temper tantrum?" Wufei said, raising an eyebrow.

"Most of the time I can convince myself it was just a temper tantrum, but sometimes I wonder...what if there was some truth to it?"

"Maybe you'd better tell me what he said."

Quatre looked at Wufei with utter misery in his eyes, then looked back down at his hands. His mouth was set in a grim little line.

"Quatre," sighed Wufei, "I've been in the Preventers for ten years now. I've heard more confessions than a priest, and the only judgments I make are based on facts. Talk to me. Give me the facts."

"It was the morning after Trowa came to the hospital," Quatre started reluctantly. "I woke up and was feeling a lot better, except I needed to use the toilet. Duo helped me take the oxygen stuff off me. I guess it set off an alarm somewhere, because when I came out of the bathroom, Trowa was there. He was really angry and started telling me that it was stupid of me to take off the oxygen because the monitor alarm had gone off and scared the nurses."

"Hold on a moment. Did any of the staff come in to your room?"

Quatre looked up, curious. "No. It was just me, Duo and Trowa. Why?"

"If some sort of monitor alarm had really gone off, don't you think that someone would have come to check on you?"

Quatre looked doubtful. "Well, now that you mention it...but I really did take the monitor off."

"You took it off, but did you happen to notice if the machine was actually working?"

"No. I didn't really pay attention to it since I was feeling so much better, and the respiratory therapist said I was healing fast, so I didn't think it was important."

"Speaking hypothetically, the machine might have been turned off sometime in the night, perhaps to cut down on noise, but they left the monitor on. It goes on your hand, correct?"

Quatre nodded. "Over the index finger."

"So they might have left that on to avoid disturbing your rest."

"It's possible, but then why would Trowa lie?"

"Let's get back to that. What else did he say?"

"He said something about how I could have gotten myself killed, and that I wasn't a soldier anymore, and even when I was, I wasn't a good one and always had to have the Maguanac at my back...and something about having bad aim and you must have been crazy to give me a gun." Quatre's cheeks were stained red with shame.

"Quatre, what were Sandrock's armaments?"

"What's that got to do with anything?" Quatre asked, skewering him with an angry look.

"Humor me."

"It had two vulcan cannons in the head, two missile launchers in the shoulders, two shield flashes on the left arm, and of course, the two heat shotels."

"Yes, those. I always thought your Sandrock seemed to be designed more for close fighting rather than range."

"It was, originally, but I learned how to..." Quatre trailed off as the light went on.

Wufei finished for him. "Slice mobile suits neatly down the middle each time you threw your shotels at them? Ambidextrously? And in such a manner that they came back to you like boomerangs?"

"Well..."

"While on the other hand, I recall Trowa's preferred method of combat was to spray bullets with that huge gatling of his in the general direction of the enemy until something hit. At least, until he ran out of ammunition." Wufei said with a haughty sniff. "I hardly think Trowa is in any position to question your aim. I knew exactly what I was doing when I gave you that gun, Quatre, and I never regretted my decision."

Blushing darker than ever, Quatre gave him a small smile. "Thank you, Wufei."

"Did he say anything else?"

"He asked me what happened to my pacifist ideals and wondered if I was honoring my father's memory."

"Would your father have approved of Yates?"

Quatre's eyes went wide. "No! He hated people like that, people who cut corners just to make a few extra credits."

"I see. Is there anything else?"

"He said I don't know how to take care of myself and that he's been doing it for me the entire time we've been together."

"So, Trowa took care of you? What did he mean by that? Was he somehow responsible for your day-to-day well-being?"

Quatre shook his head. "No, no, nothing like that. As far as running the house goes, Mrs. Charles takes care of most of that. Otherwise, we take care of ourselves...or maybe one of us takes over if the other is too busy, but I never got the impression that I relied on him more than he relied on me. As for my day-to-day well-being, what do you think he did? Leave little notes to remind me to brush my teeth and put my socks on before I put on my shoes?"

"No need to get defensive. I'm just collecting the facts," Wufei said calmly. "So that's yet another unfounded accusation Trowa tried to place on you. That makes four by my count. Is there anything more?"

Quatre closed his eyes briefly. It was obvious he was trying to rein in his temper. When he opened them again, Wufei was surprised to see him start to smile. "Well...he accused Duo of wanting to sleep with me."

For a moment, all Wufei could do was stare. Quatre stared back with a little shrug that said, 'yeah, I don't get it either'. Wufei shook himself out of his shock and said, "I might not want to know the answer to this, but were you two doing anything that might have led him to that conclusion?"

"What? No!" Quatre looked appalled. "Everything else aside, that would practically be incest!" He shuddered theatrically.

"That's what I thought," Wufei said with an internal sigh of relief. He got up and began to pace back and forth in front of the sofa, carefully avoiding the area with broken glass since he was wearing only socks on his feet. "Let me see if I've got your side of the story straight. Trowa walked into your room, and that was the first time he's seen you conscious and lucid since you left home. You were probably expecting some affectionate gesture on his part, correct?"

"A 'hello, Quatre, how are you?' would have been nice," Quatre said bitterly.

"Instead, he appeared to be very angry and began to say untrue things to you. Things that, knowing you as well as he does, were carefully calculated to hurt you. He played on your insecurities and doubts, and he even cheapened your relationship with Duo."

"That pissed Duo right off, I can tell you."

"I imagine it did. Has Trowa ever done anything like that before?"

"No. We've had arguments before, called each other names and raised our voices, but he's never _attacked_ me like that." He looked down at his hands, which were knotted together in agitation. He forced them to flatten out in his lap. "He apologized," he added in a very quiet voice.

"Well, that's something."

Quatre nodded, seemingly fascinated by the backs of his hands. "He said he didn't mean it. But..."

Wufei said nothing. He had already done as much prodding as he felt comfortable with; after all, Quatre wasn't a suspect to be interrogated. He was a friend.

When several long moments went by and Quatre remained motionless and silent, he stood up to leave. So far, his 'vacation' had been anything but restful. "I'll go put my things in the guest room. I'll help you clean this mess up later."

Quatre raised his head and looked at him with eyes that seemed infinitely sorrowful and weary. They seemed too old to be in such a young face. "Take all the time you need, Wufei," he said.

Wufei was fairly sure that was Quatre's way of saying he wanted to be left alone. He nodded in acknowledgement and made a great show out of selecting a book from one of the shelves on the wall before picking his way carefully back to the entry hall to retrieve his shoes and bag. They could resume this battle another day.

TBC


	10. Repercussions

Title: Never Turn Your Back on the Sea (10/?)  
Author: Alleyprowler (asbprime yahoo.com)  
Pairings: (in order for this chapter) 2xH, 1xR, 45, 3x4  
Rating: R for language and violence

Chapter Ten, in which Duo's toaster is possessed by Satan, Trowa grows a spine, Quatre does his best Gundam-pilot-in-the-headlights imitation, and we meet an honest lawyer. Uh, why are you looking at me like that?

* * *

If there was one good thing to come out of the Yates fiasco, Duo thought, it was that the L2 colonies were probably cleaner and more environmentally stable than they had been since their inception.

Public outcry over Yates' crimes had prompted a lot of very quick changes in the laws concerning the use and storage of hazardous materials, which meant, among other things, that every salvage and reclaim company in the LaGrange point was now being vetted on a regular basis.

This should not have been a problem Sweepers III. Both Duo and Hilde had lived in the Colonies for most of their lives and were well aware of how fragile the balance of life was in such tiny, closed ecosystems. They were also very well-versed in the rules and regulations of their trade and had never once failed an inspection--they had even been cited as one of the more responsible parties. Yet when they got a notice that they were due for one by the second week of March, Hilde had inexplicably begun to panic.

There was nothing Duo or the others could do to calm her down; she insisted on personally inspecting everything in the scrapyard from the biohazard containment vessels to the toilets, and she couldn't just check them once, but over and over again in an obsessive-compulsive manner that worried Duo.

When the morning of the inspection finally came around, Duo had to half-drag his exhausted wife out of bed and into the kitchen for some nourishment before the whole circus began. "We'll ace it, babe, we always do," he assured her as he settled her into her favorite chair by the window.

"I know that," she mumbled sleepily, "but I keep reading the reports and seeing who's had their business licenses suspended and...Duo, I've actually been having nightmares over this."

Duo threw a sympathetic look at her as he spooned coffee grounds into the brewer. Hilde, his brave-hearted Hilde, had one major fear: Failure. She couldn't stand the thought of it, and when she said she had nightmares, he didn't doubt that they were every bit as frightening as his own. "Hilde, when the dust settles, I'm gonna throw you into the nearest luxury shuttle and take you someplace where they have sandy beaches and serve foofy cocktails with little umbrellas in them and don't allow nightmares."

Sleepy blue eyes smiled up at him. "That sounds great, but right now I'd settle for a really strong cup of coffee...and where the hell did my palmtop go?"

That was another part of Hilde and Duo's morning ritual. Hilde had about two dozen gossipy friends who were constantly e-mailing her with what they called 'news', and she usually spent breakfast time hunched over her sleek little palmtop going through her messages and replying to the more urgent ones--although Duo had yet to figure out how she classified them. He preferred more respectable news sources himself. If it didn't come off the wire it wasn't news, it was merely rumor.

Duo took a quick look around the kitchen. "Uh, Hil, it's in its recharger where it usually is," he said, pointing to the wall socket where she plugged it in for the night.

"Oh, right," Hilde said with an embarrassed laugh, and got up to retrieve it.

Duo rummaged around in the refrigerator for milk and bread and jam and set about making toast. If he was honest with himself, he had to admit that he was a little nervous about the inspection as well. It was a baseless fear, he knew, but he couldn't help but pick up on some of Hilde's anxiety. She'd just been so damn jumpy lately! He'd be so glad when this morning was over and they could go back to whatever passed for normal.

"Oh shit," Hilde said.

Duo suppressed a sigh. "What is it now?"

"Shit. _Shit!_" Hilde pounded her fist on the tabletop.

There was a worried-sounding bark, and then Duo heard Hunter's nails clicking on the linoleum floor. The big mutt trotted to his mistress and set his head on her knee, peering up at her with his soulful eyes. Damn, she was even making the _dog_ nervous!

"Hilde, use real words. 'Shit' doesn't convey it very well."

"That rotten little no-good lowdown _slimeball_!"

Duo blinked. "Who are you talking about, babe?"

"Well, how many rotten lowdown slimeballs do we know?" she demanded furiously.

Duo saw the fire in her eyes and felt his heartrate suddenly double. For such a petite thing, Hilde was scary when she was mad. "Why don't you just take it from the top, babe?"

"Blue!" She thrust her palmtop at him. "Look at this shit!"

Just then, the toaster popped and Duo snatched the hot toast out of the air before it could bounce off the ceiling and go ricocheting all over the kitchen. He was going to have to fix that one of these days. "What about him? He's in one of the Preventers' detention lockups, right?"

"Wrong! He's in a nice, cushy hospital wing being evaluated by a team of psychologists who seem to think that he's not fit to stand trial." She punched a button on her palmtop viciously.

"He's not? Why? And who's saying this, anyway?" The last he'd heard, Blue wasn't scheduled for a hearing till next week. He'd heard it from Wufei, who had heard it from his partner, who had heard it from Une herself. Granted, that made it a rumor by Duo's standards, but at least it was a good, solid rumor.

"My friend Cammie works as a nurse in the hospital he's in. She said that he was brought in last night in screaming hysterics and they've barely been able to get a coherent word out of him since, and they're thinking about transferring him to a long-term care facility. Apparently he freaked out during a routine cell inspection, attacked two guards and then--get this--he went on to try to drown himself in a toilet."

"_What_?" Duo accomplished what the toaster hadn't and dropped the toast on the floor. It landed butter-side down.

"Cammie says he won't let anyone male near him. Whenever a man comes into his room, he tries to attack them and then makes some lame suicidal gesture afterwards. That rotten little sneak! He's doing that on purpose."

Duo said nothing. He was thinking back. Although it had been just over a month ago, he remembered Blue's tearstained, begging face vividly. He remembered the way all the color had drained out of his face once he had heard his recorded voice on Wufei's laptop and realized he was in trouble. He remembered the way Blue had instantly transformed from a cocky teenager to a cringing wreck once he caught sight of the Preventers uniforms Wufei and Quatre had been wearing.

"Cammie says the little creep is just right as rain as long as he's only around women," Hilde went on. "She says he freaks out if he sees the damn _janitor_. Oh my God, if he's trying to fake his way out of jail, he'd better come up with a more convincing act than that."

Duo remembered the way they had stood in the warehouse, the three ex-pilots forming a human cage around the boy. He remembered the way Wufei had reacted quicker than lightning, punching Blue in the nose when he seemed to make a threatening gesture toward Quatre. The way Wufei had seemed to loom over the boy, maintaining an icy, authoritative kind of silence throughout the questioning. Blue hadn't been faking his panic then.

"Oh, and here's the kicker. He wets the bed." Hilde snorted. "Even for him, that's laying it on a little thick, don't you think?"

He remembered Quatre's voice, eerily calm, detailing what the worst-case scenario might be and explaining to Blue exactly what a 'prison wife' was, although without using those words. Blue had wet himself then.

"She says that the kid can't even stand being with his own lawyer because he's a man. He's rejecting his own _legal representation_!"

Worst of all, Duo remembered the murderous rage that had overcome him and how dangerously close he had been to killing Blue on the spot. Too close.

Close enough that he had actually frightened himself.

"Duo, are you listening? Are you okay?"

He shook himself a little and poured two mugs of coffee. "Yeah, I was just thinking."

"About what? Thank you," Hilde accepted her mug and inhaled the steam with a sigh of appreciation.

He didn't really want to tell her. She was exhausted, under pressure, and emotional and she was in no condition to hear the truth. But he had long ago vowed that he would never keep anything from her. No matter how revolting or shameful, he had always shared everything with her, and so far she had been tough enough, forgiving enough, and loving enough to accept everything. He'd planned on going over all the details of Blue and Yates's capture with her later, after things had calmed down. Later. There was always later.

He took a sip of his own coffee. "It's nothing, babe."

"It's obviously something. You were spacing out."

He flashed her a grin. "I was just fantasizing about taking you on vacation, that's all. You, the sun, the sand, a skimpy bikini..." He sketched a shapely hourglass figure in the air with his hands.

She set her coffee mug down on the table with a bang. A scowl line had appeared between her eyebrows. "Don't lie to me, Duo Maxell. You've never done it before and you're not about to start now."

Hunter let out a whine and started to lick Hilde's hand. Obviously, he wasn't even fooling the dog, let alone his wife. He dropped the fake grin with a sigh. "I was just thinking...maybe Blue isn't bluffing after all."

Hilde looked at him as if he had just said something bizarre about fruitbats. "What are you talking about?"

Duo picked up the ruined toast and tossed it into the sink. He suddenly couldn't meet her eyes. "Me and Wufei and Quatre weren't exactly, well, _subtle_ when we caught up to Blue." He snorted. "Man, that's an understatement."

She looked confused. "What do you mean?"

Duo put two more slices of bread into the toaster. "You know Wufei's been suspended, don't you?"

"Yes, you told me that. You said it was because he'd given Quatre a firearm. You also said it was a stupid reason to suspend him. What are you getting at?"

"Well, that wasn't the only thing we did."

She frowned at him. "What do you mean? Did you beat him up?"

"No, not exactly. Wufei popped him pretty hard on the nose, but that was an accident."

"Good for Wufei," she said coldly.

"And Quatre and I...well, I went a little nuts and pulled a knife on him. I didn't hurt him, but I could have. And then Quatre had a little heart-to-heart with him about prison life and scared the piss out of him, literally."

"Well what were you supposed to do, take him out for breakfast and ask him politely for a confession over coffee and doughnuts?"

As if it took the comment on doughnuts as an insult, the toaster ejected its load with more violence than usual. Duo batted the toast out of the air and stared at it for a while before he picked up his butter knife again. "Hilde, you don't understand..."

"No, I don't," she snapped. "I don't understand how you could possibly feel sorry for him. He spent three months under our roof, gaining our trust just so he could use it against us later."

"I'm not saying that what he did wasn't awful, I'm just saying that maybe he's not faking. We did our best to terrorize him, and you know how persuasive Quatre can be--"

"Quatre was nearly killed! By all rights he should have ripped Blue's arm off and beaten him to death with it!"

Duo felt sick. Hilde wasn't listening to him and he didn't have the strength to fight her, not over this. "Hilde, don't say things like that."

"What do you expect me to say? How can you stand there and make excuses for the guy who tried to ruin us?"

"With all due respect, babe, you weren't there."

"No, and it's a damn good thing I wasn't, or else I'd be the one in prison facing murder charges right now! He's a greedy, lying, cowardly thief who's trying to buck the system, and if he gets away with it..." she made a frustrated growling noise deep in her throat. "I can't stand it anymore. I need to go for a walk. Hunter, leash!"

The dog barked once, as if saying, "Yes, ma'am!" and rushed to the cupboard where his leash was kept.

Although Duo thought that a walk was a grand idea, he didn't think that the neighbors would appreciate the state she was in. "Hilde..."

She held up her hand, palm-out. "Stop. I don't want to argue anymore."

"Yeah, but..."

"No." She snapped Hunter's leash onto his collar and let him pull her toward the kitchen door.

"Hilde, listen!"

"I'm not in the mood to listen, Duo! I need a walk, and I need it now!"

"I know, but..."

SLAM!

Duo stared at the closed door with a sigh. "You could at least put some clothes on."

* * *

It was the first truly warm day of spring, and Heero knew exactly where he would find his wife. He'd known it from the moment he'd woken up alone in their bed and seen the sunlight streaming through the mullioned windows, which had been opened to let the mild breeze drift in.

Bypassing the breakfast buffet, Heero took a cup of coffee from the sideboard and let himself out of the south door, following a crushed-gravel path through the grass to Relena's garden.

Sure enough, there she was, just coming out of the greenhouse with a flat full of herb seedlings. She had on her broad-brimmed straw sunhat, a pair of Heero's old jeans, rolled up at the ankles, and one of his old white dress shirts underneath a yellow cardigan that she wouldn't be needing much longer now that the sun was really starting to pull itself together. He lifted his coffee mug to her in greeting. "Don't mind me, I just came out for a little fresh air," he called.

"As long as you don't volunteer to weed again," she said with a laugh, and walked off toward one of the raised beds she'd been preparing for weeks in anticipation of the proper arrival of spring.

Heero settled himself down in a wooden glider set along the path and smiled into his mug. The last time he'd tried to help her garden, it had turned out to be at the expense of most of her basil crop and several rows of peas; the actual weeds themselves had been carefully spared. Relena had laughed till she cried, but the experience had taught Heero that it was much more pleasant to sit and watch than to actually participate.

The garden was Relena's pride and joy, and it showed. Even this early in the season it showed promises of the lush abundance that would peak in June and stay through November, before finally dying back to its winter sleep. Relena was in her element here, carefully nurturing and cherishing each tiny life. He watched as she set down her flat and then sat back on her heels in front of the raised bed, which was full of rich black soil that she had composted herself. She pulled on her leather gloves, but before she took up her trowel and began her planting, she suddenly swept off her hat and raised her face to the sun, soaking in its rays for a moment before she began to work.

Heero loved the way she looked in the sunlight. Her hair was golden, her skin was golden, and the light seemed to love her as it enveloped her in a warm glow. Even when she put her hat back on to shade her eyes, the sunlight didn't so much reflect off the straw as dance across it, sending beams into his own eyes. He merely blinked them away and watched her as she gently settled her seedlings into the earth. It was almost ritualistic, the way she did it. Her posture was humble, and with her eyes cast down on the ground and her movements so precise and repetitive, she looked like a woman at prayer.

He was focused on her that it took him a few minutes to register a presence behind him, but when he did, he came alert in a flash. He braced his feet on the ground and glanced over his shoulder to see who it was while attempting to keep the creaky glider still, but he relaxed when he saw that it was only Trowa. He raised a hand in greeting, and Trowa nodded back.

Heero had to admit he was a little surprised to see him outside. Ever since he had arrived, Trowa had kept to himself for the most part. He only came out to socialize during mealtimes, which even Heero could tell was only for the sake of politeness. Other times he kept to his suite of rooms, or sat out on the balcony on the north side of the house.

It seemed to Heero that Trowa had changed a little over the past few days. He still only came out to take meals with them, but he seemed to be more open and relaxed. He acted like a man who has had a great weight lifted from him mind, and while Heero was somewhat curious about the change, he hadn't considered questioning it. If Trowa wanted to talk about it, he would.

Heero slid to one side of the glider. "Have a seat."

"No, thanks," Trowa said. He had something square and white in his hand and he kept tapping it against his leg nervously. "This is an impressive garden. Did Relena do all this herself?"

"Most of it. She talked me into planting some of the saplings, but the rest of it is all hers."

"It must be a lot of work."

"I think it helps her focus."

"I see." Trowa gave the white thing in his hand one last tap and sighed. "I guess I shouldn't disturb her, then. I'll come back later."

"Is it something I can help you with?"

"Probably. I just needed some directions, but I'd rather ask Relena."

Heero raised his eyebrows. "May I ask why?"

"I think it'll make her happy."

Interesting. Heero had no idea how being asked for directions could make someone happy, but he intended to find out. "Relena!" he called.

"Oh, you don't have to..." Trowa said. He sounded somewhat uncomfortable. But Relena was already on her feet and coming their way.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Trowa has something to ask you," Heero said, turning toward Trowa, who was by now looking very uncomfortable.

"Yes?" she said when it seemed like Trowa wasn't going to say anything after all.

"I was just wondering if you could tell me how to get to the post office," he said, seeming to speak more to his shoes than to her.

"It's not far down the main road. You take a left two blocks past the school--it's on Eagle Rock road, I believe. But you can just leave your letter with Marie if you like, she goes down to the post office every afternoon."

"I'd rather do it myself," he said, and held up the white thing in his hand, which was indeed a letter.

Relena's reaction startled them. First her eyes went wide as if in shock, then her entire face lit up with a look of delight and she stood up on her toes to throw her arms around Trowa's neck, being careful not to touch him with her muddy gloves. "Oh, Trowa, that's wonderful! I'm so glad you decided to send it."

He let out an embarrassed chuckle and hugged her back. "It took me a few days, but yes, I think it's for the best."

She stepped back, and Heero could see her eyes shining. He still didn't understand what was going on, but it was clearly a good thing if it made Relena this happy. Trowa looked happy too, if a little nervous. He gave Relena one last squeeze before heading off toward the front gates. Heero watched him till he was out of sight. "That letter's important, I assume," he said.

She gave him the mysterious sort of smile that only women seemed to be able to pull off--a smile that meant 'I know something you don't know and you'll just have to figure it out on your own'. "It's not just a letter, Heero. It's an olive branch," she said, and walked away to tend to her seedlings.

* * *

Wufei's feet pounded on the pavement in a steady beat, one heartbeat and to each breath and two footfalls to each inhalation. His muscles were warm and loose; all traces of tension and sleepiness were gone. He was alert, focused. He ran, and the synchronization of his body's rhythms usually would have soothed him and induced a state close to meditation, but his mind refused to stay at rest.

It might have had something to do with the subtle differences between the colony and the earth. The spin-induced gravity of the colony was just a bit lighter than that of earth, and the atmospheric pressure was slightly greater. The air that he was pulling into his lungs was drier than he was used to and had been scrubbed clean by the filtering system, rendering it sterile and tasteless. Those things were not noticeable under normal circumstances, but Wufei became acutely aware of his body and how it was functioning when he was exercising, and the little differences were making him feel off-balance.

He pushed himself harder, hoping that a faster pace would help him get rid of the feeling; if not, at least it would cut his run a bit shorter. He passed darkened shops, abandoned schools and empty parks on his way?it was far too early for the general population to be up and about, especially on a Saturday morning, and that's the way Wufei preferred it. Delivery vehicles passed him with a quiet electric hum, but aside from his pounding feet and steady breathing, the only sounds he heard were from the birds, who were just beginning their own morning warm-ups.

He was relieved when he jogged back into Quatre's parklike neighborhood. The run had not refreshed him as it usually did, and he wanted to take a shower, change his clothes, and pretend to start his day all over again. Perhaps he could drag Quatre out later.

He opened the front door with difficulty--the basket that went under the letter slot had come loose and the morning mail had spilled onto the floor, including a thick trade magazine that had wedged itself between the bottom of the door and the threshold. Wufei tugged it out and took it and the rest of the stack to the kitchen, which was filled with the scent of strong Jamaican coffee.

Quatre stood near the sink with a ceramic mug in his hands, blinking sleepily out the window at nothing in particular. "Morning, Wufei," he mumbled.

"Morning. Here's the mail." Wufei tossed it down on the draining board.

"There should be a law against getting bills on a Saturday," Quatre said, looking at the pile of envelopes with a disapproving eye.

"Agreed." Wufei armed sweat from his forehead and glanced at the coffeepot. It was already half-empty, and he knew that if he didn't act soon, he'd have to make himself a new pot if he wanted any. Then he got a whiff of his armpits and decided that a shower was a higher priority than caffeine right now. "I'm going to get cleaned up. I'd ask you to save me some coffee, but that would be a waste of breath."

Quatre's nose twitched. "I'll make you a new pot. You reek."

Wufei smirked and deliberately put his hands behind his head, twisting his body from side to side for maximum effect. "On second thought..."

"Out! Out!" Quatre shouted, shoving him in the direction of the nearest bathroom.

Chuckling, Wufei went to take his shower.

Twenty minutes later, Wufei stood in front of the foggy bathroom mirror, towelling himself off and marveling over how a little soap and water could make him feel like a new man. The uneasiness he'd felt earlier had been washed away and he felt energized--perhaps he could talk Quatre into doing something a little more exciting than visiting the Colony's tourist traps today.

He pulled on some jeans and a red knit pullover and then exited the bathroom in a puff of steam. "You'd better have that coffee ready, Winner," he called out toward the kitchen, but there was no answer. Shrugging, he padded down the short corridor to the kitchen and made a beeline to the coffee pot, which was still half-full. Wufei snorted. "Are you already half finished with a second pot? Honestly, Quatre, don't you have any sense? You're going to give yourself an ulcer before you're thirty!"

Quatre, still standing in front of the sink exactly where Wufei had left him, didn't say anything. He had his coffee mug in his left hand, and a small sheaf of papers in his right, and he seemed completely transfixed by the latter. Wufei found a mug and poured himself a dose of what Duo used to call 'liquid humanity'.

"That must be one hell of a bill if it's taking up that much of your attention," he said, nodding at the papers in Quatre's hand.

"Not a bill," Quatre said in a strange, faraway voice.

"Not a...Quatre, are you all right?" Suddenly concerned, Wufei took Quatre by the shoulders and spun him around till they were face to face. Quatre face was slack and ashen, and his eyes appeared to be focused on something on the next colony. He looked like a dead man who had somehow managed to remain standing. "Quatre!" Wufei shook him.

Quatre blinked, and his eyes came back into focus. "It's not a bill," he said in a clearer voice. "It's a letter."

"Who is it from?" Wufei asked, although he already knew the answer. Not many people were able to rattle Quatre like that.

"Trowa."

With an absolute lack of surprise, Wufei reached out toward the papers. "May I?"

"Yeah, I think you'd better," Quatre said. He stuffed the stationery into Wufei's hand and wandered off to find a place to sit.

Wufei skimmed the letter quickly. Even though he had Quatre's permission to read it, he felt like he was snooping into something private...and he supposed he was. This letter certainly hadn't been intended to be read by anyone but Quatre, he quickly realized, and he seated himself at the breakfast table.

So this was Trowa's naked soul, was it? Wufei was surprised by the language and the sentiments expressed in it; Trowa didn't like to talk about his personal feelings much, even to his closest friends, and Wufei was a bit surprised--not to mention slightly embarrassed--by the passion he put into his words. Still, it could have been worse. At least he had only mentioned their sex life in passing.

He read the closing lines once more, then set the pages down on the table between them. "Well. That was enlightening."

"What should I do?" Quatre asked in a hollow voice.

Wufei wanted nothing more than to go back in time about half an hour, intercept the stupid letter, and feed it into the trash compactor. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option. "What do you want to do?"

Quatre shook his head slowly. "Kick him. Kiss him. Ask him to come back. Tell him I never want to see him again."

"Mixed feelings?"

Quatre crossed his arms on the table and lay his head down on them. He looked utterly exhausted. "I guess I've been doing a good job of living in denial these last ten days. Ever since you came to stay with me, it's been easy to shove him into the back of my mind and pretend I'm not lonely and hurt as hell...I honestly don't know how to feel, or what to think, or what to do about it."

Wufei didn't know either. He'd had relationships in the past, but they had all broken off cleanly and without regret from either party. Some had ended in tears and others with a handshake, but none of them had been left unresolved like this...perhaps because he didn't think he'd ever really been in love. He supposed it complicated things when your feelings for the other person originated from above the waist.

"You should get dressed," Wufei said after a long and painful pause. He desperately needed something to do and he didn't want to hear Quatre talk, so he headed toward the refrigerator. "I'll make breakfast."

"I'm not hungry," Quatre said.

"I don't care." He made more noise than necessary as he pulled ingredients for an omelet out and set them down on the butcherblock work surface in the center of the kitchen. If he banged pots and pans around loudly enough, he reasoned, then maybe Quatre wouldn't try to talk to him.

It was all for nothing, though. Quatre hauled himself up from the table, moving like a deep sea diver under several tons of water, and made his way to the butcherblock "Can I help with anything?"

Wufei pushed himself deeper into the refrigerator and came out with nothing more than a pitcher of orange juice and a rather sad-looking tomato. "No, I've got it under control," he said shortly. "You go get dressed."

Quatre looked down at himself and brushed futilely at the wrinkles on the front of his t-shirt. "Okay."

Wufei was about to make another foray into the fridge when a sudden inspiration hit him. "Quatre?" he called toward the retreating figure.

"Hm?"

"Wear your workout clothes."

"My..." Quatre blinked. "What for?"

"It's high time you came back to life," Wufei said, and he turned his back.

* * *

"After you, ma'am," Milo said as he pushed open the glass-and-brass door. Une stepped into the foyer of the Decatur Park Professional Building and breathed a martyred sigh. In spite of the air conditioning, the place stank of ambition, greed, and new money.

She swept toward the bank of elevators on the left side of the foyer, her heels clicking briskly on the marble floors. Milo trailed after her, dragging his own feet. Honestly, he was acting more like a man being led to the gallows than a man on the way to a mid-morning meeting, but she didn't blame him. She didn't want to be there either.

"What's the firm's name again?" she asked, peering over the tops of her glasses at the billboard-sized directory next to the elevators.

"Livermore, Cogan and McInnes, ma'am. Cyril McInnes is our council."

"I think I've heard of him," she said, looking over the directory. There were over a dozen law firms listed on it, as well as cosmetic surgeons, high-priced dentists, advertising agencies, and more 'consultants' than she cared to count. _Bloodsuckers, all of them_.

"He has a good reputation. They say he's very sharp."

"I should certainly hope so, with the retainer we pay him." She spied the name she wanted halfway down the third column. Livermore, Cogan and McInnes were located on the twenty-fourth floor. "Well, sooner started, sooner finished," she said, and pressed the button to summon an elevator.

They were quiet on the ride up. Morrison was making a great show of filing through the notes and folders he carried around in an old leather courier bag, even though they had both double-checked that they'd brought everything they needed before they had left her office. She suspected he was nervous. It should have been Chang who accompanied her on this visit since he'd been the field agent at the scene, but since she had suspended him, it hadn't seemed proper to ask him to come along. _I obviously didn't think that decision all the way through_, she chided herself bitterly.

There was a soft chime and the elevator doors slid open, letting them out into a corridor lined with doors. "Very ritzy," Morrison commented in an undertone.

Une took in the parquet flooring, the ultramodern wall sconces, and the textured paint job with a jaded eye. It was a far cry from the industrial-style décor of the Preventer's headquarters, but she wasn't sure that she liked this much better. "This is where part of our retainer money goes. I hope they enjoy it," she said, and turned to her left.

They were almost at the end of the corridor when she saw the name she was looking for, painted in gold lettering across a pair of thick glass doors. Morrison made a move to open the door for her, but she pushed her way through before he could do much more than place his hand on the polished bar.

"Let me lead from here, Agent," she said under her breath.

"Ma'am." Morrison dropped back.

She approached the reception desk and nodded at the young intern seated behind it. "Good morning. General Director Une here to see Cyril McInnes."

The young man scrutinized her card for a moment, then stood up with a professional smile plastered on his face. "He's expecting you. Follow me, please."

The intern led them to, not an office, but a conference area. It was tastefully furnished with club chairs upholstered in burgundy leather, green-shaded floor lamps, and lush tropical plants in brass containers. He offered them coffee, which they refused, then bustled off to find McInnes.

"This is some place," Morrison said in a low voice that one usually used in a library or a museum.

"Try not to let it impress you."

"If we had only half their decorating budget--"

He was cut off by the arrival of Cyril McInnes. Une judged him to be about fifty years old, with the deep and premature wrinkles of a heavy smoker. His suit was grey, as was his hair, and he looked as if he had never smiled once in his life. "Good morning, Director. Very kind of you to come on such short notice," he said. He had a good courtroom voice, she decided. It was mellow but carrying, authoritative without being pedantic.

"Good morning, Council. May I introduce my colleague, Agent Morrison."

A deep V appeared between McInnes's eyebrows. "Morrison? I thought the agent involved in the case was named Chang."

"Yes, but regrettably, he was unavailable. Agent Morrison is Chang's direct supervisor."

McInnes seemed satisfied with that. He shook Morrison's hand and took a seat in one of the club chairs, setting his briefcase on his lap. He made no move to open it yet. "In light of recent developments, I'm sure you have some questions and concerns you'd like to have addressed."

_Direct and to the point_, Une thought, mentally adding a point to his score. "Yes, the report we received about Mr. Ervy are a little worrisome," she said. Beside her, Morrison disguised his opinion of _bullshit_ as a cough.

McInnes's lips thinned in what might have been a smile or a touch of indigestion. It was hard to tell with him. "I take it you aren't familiar with Mr. Ervy's legal representative. Or should I say, former representative."

"No. Should I be?"

"Perhaps not. Mr. Kirby's name isn't very well-known outside of the profession, but inside..." McInnes let the sentence trail off as he opened the clasps on his briefcase.

_Good sense of drama_, Une commented silently, adding another point in his favor. She was handed a single sheet of paper, which seemed to be a brief report on Kirby's track record. In his five years as a criminal lawyer, Kirby had had two clients acquitted, nineteen released due to mistrials, another fifty-seven convicted, and one hundred and seventeen declared 'not guilty by reason of insanity'. "Dear God," she breathed. She looked up and met McInnes's eyes. "Is this true?"

McInnes nodded solemnly. "He does have something of a reputation."

Morrison had taken the paper out of Une's hands as soon as she had released her death grip on it and was scanning it rapidly. "Unbelievable. But still, this isn't going to be a problem, is it? Kirby isn't his representative anymore."

"No, his, er, condition demands that he have a female council. Kirby's recommended one for him. Her name is Ada Milkiss, and I don't have much data on her. This will be her first trial."

"You seem sure it will go to trial, Council," Une said.

"It's a matter of _when_, not _if_, Director Une. You see, Kirby is under review right now by the Board of Ethics, so he passed his case on to his scion, so to speak. Ms. Milkiss is his niece."

"Isn't that...questionable?" Morrison asked.

"Yes, Agent, it is, and we intend to question it until we get a satisfactory answer."

Morrison sat back in his chair; all traces of nervousness gone now, he was back to his normal unflappable self. McInnes seemed to have passed whatever test he had set. Une, however, still had one major problem on her mind. "Council, what are the chances that Chang and the two civilians will be called to testify in court?"

"For Ervy's case, close to zero. In my opinion, the young man has already tried and convicted himself. Yates, however..." That deep V appeared between his eyebrows again. "The shooting complicates things. Your report indicates that Mr. Winner was acting in the capacity of a field deputy, which may give him the authority to carry and use a firearm, but current law is cloudy in that area. Also, since he was the victim in this case, questions of vigilantism will arise."

She had been afraid of that. "And what about Mr. Maxwell?"

The V disappeared. "Mr. Maxwell has agreed to give a full report to both myself and whoever ends up representing Yates. He was also a victim, but since he didn't do any actual physical harm to either Yates or Ervy, he's likely to be spared any unwanted attention. If you like, I could appoint one of the junior partners to assist him in preparing his statement."

Une felt a corner of her mouth twitch in an almost-smile. "That won't be necessary, Council. Mr. Maxwell is up to the task, I'm sure. He's honest, but he's also quite...eloquent."

McInnes's eyebrows rose a fraction of a millimeter. "Do you know Mr. Maxwell?"

"We've met." _I saved his life once, now I have his lifelong friendship, whether I want it or not. Duo never forgets a favor...or a slight_.

"Excuse me," Morrison broke in, "but earlier on you said something about 'whoever ends up representing Yates'. He was a prominent businessman on his colony, surely he must have his own lawyer."

McInnes's lips thinned again, and this time Une was sure it was a smile. "Oh, he did indeed. Three of them, in fact. They've all been dismissed."

"By whom?" Une asked.

"By Yates himself."

"May I ask why?"

"They refused to accept his plea of innocence."

Morrison let out a disbelieving laugh. "I might be a little behind on things, but on the last count, he'd been charged with conspiracy to commit murder, illegal possession of explosives, bribery of public officials, toxic waste dumping, and about half a dozen other irrefutable charges. The evidence is overwhelming! How in the world can he consider himself innocent?"

"You aren't very far behind, Agent. He's had a few more charges tacked onto his list in the last few days, but he considers that a moot point. Mr. Yates is a firm believer of justice through wealth; in other words, he thinks that if he searches long enough, he can find a council--and perhaps a judge--who can be bought."

Une caught Morrison's glance and read the expression on his face in a flash. _Is that guy crazy?_ he was asking her. She gave him the merest of shrugs back. _Who knows?_

"Agent, Director," McInnes said, "I know it might sound a little strange to you, but Yates is by no means the first person to do this. Many people with more wealth than conscience have tried this trick before, and the best thing to do is to sit back and let themselves dig their own graves. With any luck, he will have incriminated himself so badly that his case may never even go to in front of a jury--he'll be tried by the High Council and your agent and the civilians will never have to testify in person. Their written testimonies will be enough."

For the first time since she'd seen the appointment with McInnes appear on her schedule, Une began to feel guardedly optimistic. "How long will Yates be given to choose a suitable representative?"

"He is already over the deadline by three days. He's been granted an extension, but I sense that patience with him is growing thin. He has another seven days before his case defaults to the discretion of the High Council, and to be frank, he will need a miracle if he's going to find a council to represent him at this stage in the game. No one with any sense will go near it now."

"So, barring a miracle, this means...?"

McInnes's face seemed to do what she had not though possible and broke into a full smile. "Either way, Yates will likely be going to prison for a very, _very_ long time."

TBC


	11. Explanations

**Title:** Never Turn Your Back on the Sea (11/?)  
**Section Title:** Explanations  
**Author:** Alleyprowler (asbprime )  
**Pairings:** (for this section) 45, 1xR, 2xH  
**Rating:** R for language

**Summary:** Chapter 11, in which Quatre climbs the walls, Wufei gets naked, Heero makes a pig of himself, Trowa gets a few more whacks with the Clue Bat, Relena acts as Duo's beta reader, Une shows a side of herself we never saw in the series, and there's another cliffhanger, but we're all used to that by now, right? Right.

* * *

Quatre was glad he'd let Wufei talk him into wearing the safety harness. At first he'd been quite indignant about it; he had been climbing since before he'd been able to walk, he'd never been in a climbing accident, the facility's safety record was impeccable, and besides, he'd climbed these particular surfaces so many times he was sure he could do it blindfolded, drunk, and in his sleep.

Wufei had listened calmly to his arguments, then handed over the harness.

Now, halfway up the intermediate wall, Quatre was wondering if he should take advantage of it. Sweat was running down his face and ribs, and his muscles were trembling with fatigue. He looked up. This particular wall was a flat vertical, not the one with the slight overhang that he usually climbed, but it seemed to loom over his head nonetheless. The finger- and toe-holds seemed to be spaced further apart than normal. Could the wall have actually grown?

Gasping, Quatre warred a little more with his pride, cursed himself for a fool, and began his slow descent. The wall had been a dumb idea. He'd already spent a solid hour working out with Wufei, doing stretches and hitting the elliptical machines and such, but when he'd passed by the climbing atrium on the way to the showers, the pull had been almost magnetic. He'd _needed_ to climb. Wufei had given him his_ are you nuts?_ look, but even that hadn't been enough to knock some sense into him. He simply had to climb, reason be damned.

"Are you okay up there?" Wufei called.

"Fine!" Quatre gasped, feeling for another toehold with his left foot. He caught one, then reached for someplace to put his left hand. He looked down between his feet to gauge how far he had to go and the ground seemed to telescope away from him. He closed his eyes. _Great, Quatre. This is the ideal time to develop acrophobia. _"Wufei?" he called.

"Yeah?"

"About how high up am I?"

"Ah...I'd say about five meters."

"Thank you." Five meters wasn't so bad. He could do that easily...when he wasn't shaking with exhaustion and drenched in sweat. He took a few deep breaths, coughed a little, and reached down with his right foot.

"I've still got the rope if you need to use the harness," Wufei said, sounding a little testy.

Quatre wondered how long he'd been climbing while Wufei stood around playing belayer and realized that it had been quite some time; Wufei must be going mad with boredom. Moving a little more quickly, Quatre found a toehold for his right foot and took an easy handhold farther down with his right hand. "I'm coming, just be patient."

"Three meters," Wufei called out helpfully a minute or two later.

Quatre was discovering it was actually easier to keep his eyes closed. Every bit of physical strength he possessed was currently channeled into his fingertips and toes. He stuck the toes of his right foot firmly into an indentation in one of the man-made stepstones bolted to the wall and let himself down.

"You look like a spider," Wufei said, sounding faintly amused. "A very large, blond, sweaty spider."

Quatre took in a ragged breath. "Remind me to come up with a witty comeback to that when I get down."

"It's not that far."

Quatre felt around with his left foot for the next toehold and was shocked when, instead of scraping along the cement wall till it found a rock, he found solid ground. Actually, it was a thick layer of wood chips on top of solid concrete flooring, but the point was, it was horizontal. He risked opening one eye. "I'm down?"

"Yes."

Quatre glanced around the atrium and made sure he and Wufei were the only ones there before pushing himself away from the wall and collapsing in a heap. He lay on his back with his arms flung wide and for a while, all he could do was breathe and be grateful he was on gravity's good side. Wufei had evidently found a towel someplace, for he threw it toward Quatre's face and then sat down by his head. "Tired?"

"Exhausted. I don't know why I did that," Quatre panted, wiping sweat from his face.

"My guess is, you wanted to do literally what you've been doing metaphorically all week."

"What?"

"Climbing the walls."

"Uh," Quatre grunted noncommittally. He didn't know what Wufei meant, but he had a feeling he'd regret it if he asked for clarification. He was beginning to feel very, very good, and he didn't want anything to spoil his mood.

"Get up. We need to shower, and I'm starting to get hungry," Wufei said, standing up with enviable agility.

Quatre labored to his feet somewhat more slowly. The quivering in his muscles had stopped, but now they felt loose and wobbly as he took off the harness and hung it on its hook for the next climber. He would probably ache like hell the next day, but for now he felt no pain, only the reckless high of an endorphin rush. He'd done it. He'd deliberately taken a risk for the first time in far too long, and he'd done it. The thought made him laugh out loud.

Wufei gave him a sidelong glance. "Are you cracking up, Winner?"

"No, no," Quatre assured him with a grin. "I'm just glad to have both feet on the ground again."

Wufei pushed open the atrium door and led the way across the lobby toward the showers and locker room. "Considering you spent three weeks in bed and haven't done anything more strenuous than play tourguide since, I'd say you did a pretty good job."

"Thank you, but I didn't really spend three weeks in bed. Trowa wasn't _that_ bad, he was just..." Quatre trailed off with a wince. "Excuse me while I change the subject to something less excruciatingly painful."

Wufei threw him a wry glance over his shoulder. "Allow me to do it for you: You need to go back to work."

"What, now?" Quatre said. He followed Wufei into the locker room and wrinkled his nose as the smell of damp soap, shampoo, mildew, disinfectant and body odor hit him in the face. He hated that smell. It turned his stomach sometimes.

"No, not this second," Wufei said, "but soon. This is the very worst time for you to let your mind go idle; you need to be doing something productive or else it's going to rot."

The image of a rotting brain did nothing to help the faint queasiness Quatre was already feeling. "Wufei, could you be less graphic?"

"I could, but I won't," Wufei said, striding toward the back row of lockers, which were reserved for guests. "I'm going to be as graphic as I need to be if it gets my point across."

Quatre followed him even though his own locker was somewhere nearer the showers. "I see your point, but Rashid's got me off the duty roster for another two weeks, and if I just show up on a job site before he thinks I'm ready..." Quatre shuddered theatrically.

Wufei sat down on a bench and began to remove his clothing. "What's he going to do, send you to your room without supper?"

Quatre refused to take the bait. "That's a fairly accurate description, actually. You don't know him, Wufei. He's a good man and he has a generous heart, but he's not the type to forgive and forget. When he found out what happened to me, he gave me a lecture that would have made _Heero_ go weak at the knees--I don't know, somehow he got it into his head that it was my fault--"

"Which it wasn't," Wufei said, stripping off his t-shirt.

"Yes, I know, it just happened, but that's not going to change his mind. He's angry that I let myself get hurt and this is his way of punishing me."

Wufei hooked his thumbs into the sides of his shorts and pulled them down, along with his underwear, tossed them aside, and began to rummage in his nylon sports bag for his toiletries. "He's not being rational, then. He's wasting a good worker for no good reason. Sure, you might not be in top physical form, but there's nothing wrong with your brain. There must be some kind of paperwork that you could have been doing, blueprints, schematics, or whatever the hell it is you use."

"Three-D modeling," Quatre said automatically.

"Yes, that. You could have been doing that. Why didn't you?"

_Because I deserved to be punished_, said a little voice in his brain. He hated those little voices; they seemed to come out at the least expected moments, bound and determined to undermine his self-esteem. They were like landmines; shattering, crippling things that nearly paralyzed him with self-doubt.

Wufei grabbed his shoulder and gave him a brisk shake. "Whatever you're thinking about, stop it. This doesn't need to be difficult. Just give Rashid a call and ask him for some light work to do till you're fit to take on your regular duties. How can he say no?"

Quatre gave him the merest of smiles. "Quit being so reasonable, Wufei. You're ruining my sulk."

"Anything to get that wounded puppy look off your face," Wufei said. He relaxed his hold on Quatre's shoulder and gave him a push. "Go on, hurry up and take your shower. We have things to do today."

"Like what?" Quatre asked, puzzled.

"A haircut, for one thing," Wufei said. He reached out and tugged at a sweat-stringy lock of hair falling over one of Quatre's eyes. "You're starting to look like Maxwell's dog."

Quatre pulled his head away, feeling a bit slighted at being compared to a huge, gangly mutt. He flattered himself that he had a little more breeding and manners than that, and he drew himself into his Master Winner stance as he demanded: "Where are we going and why do I need to have a haircut for it?"

Wufei's dark, sharp eyes cut him like obsidian shards. "You need to talk to Trowa."

* * *

When he'd been a child, Trowa had heard an absurd and possibly apocryphal story about one of the first real-language translation programs. When fed the English phase, 'out of sight, out of mind', the computer had apparently translated it into grammatically-correct Russian, but when the phrase was re-translated into English, it had read, 'blind and insane'. Trowa had taken the lesson to heart. He made a point of always trying to get his information as close to the source as he could since then, but for once, he wasn't willing to do that.

"Are you sure you don't want to read this yourself?" Heero asked. He was sitting crosslegged on the stone flagged patio attached to the north side of the estate, typing what had to be the world's longest password into his laptop.

Trowa, lounging somewhat more comfortably in a padded deck chair, shook his head. "No, I don't want to invade your privacy."

"I don't think you could if you tried," Heero said with a smug smile. "You're good, but you're not that good."

Trowa ignored the jab. Heero had always been a competitive son of a bitch, justifiably proud of his skills and more than willing to show them off. "Just give me the highlights, Heero. I don't really need to hear Wufei's editorializing or Duo's venting."

Heero nodded as he pulled up his e-mail client and selected the latest messages from the men in question. His eyes widened in interest. "This one's from Duo. He says that Une requested he write out a full report of the events of February sixth and seventh to be used in lieu of personal testimony against Raleigh Yates. He's attached a draft of the report and asked Relena to check it over for possible libelous content--wise move. Do you want a hard copy?"

Trowa held a brief but fierce debate with himself before reluctantly shaking his head. He already knew more than he wanted to know. "No, maybe later. Does 'in lieu of personal testimony' mean there won't be a trial?"

"No, it just means it'll be a High Council trial rather than a jury-by-peers trial."

"A High Council trial means they've already decided he's guilty, right?"

Heero shook his shaggy head. "Not according to the letter of the law. He still has the right to a representative and he'll get to argue his case. It doesn't mean he's automatically guilty; in fact, a lot of legal professionals think a High Council trial is fairer and more objective than a jury trial."

"Because it's closed to the press?"

"Exactly." Heero's eyes moved back and forth rapidly as he read the rest of the message. "Interesting..."

"What is?" Trowa asked when it seemed Heero wasn't going to elaborate on his own.

"According to Wufei, Ervy's been moved from the psychiatric hospital. He's back in Preventer's custody."

Shocked, Trowa sat straight up in his chair. "What was he in a psychiatric hospital for?"

Heero gave him a look from under his bangs. "Several days ago, Ervy suddenly went berserk and attacked a guard, then tried to kill himself. It's a law that potentially suicidal inmates have to be hospitalized and given a full workup, and with Ervy's bizarre behavior, they were beginning to think he should be admitted long-term. Long-term inpatients are exempt from trial because they are considered to be too ill to defend themselves. You see where this is going, don't you?"

Trowa certainly did. "If he's back in custody, then either he recovered awfully quickly or he was never crazy in the first place."

"Needless to say, the authorities aren't exactly impressed with him right now, but public opinion is loaded. According to Wufei, there's been a lot of debate over whether he should get a jury trial or be sent to a rehabilitation facility."

"A rehabilitation facility? What does that entail?"

Heero huffed out a quick breath, obviously displeased. "In short, it's an EarthSphere-funded low-security prison for minors. Ervy's council managed to produce a birth certificate that placed him sixteen days before his eighteenth birthday at the latest time of the crimes. Technically, he was under the age of majority and can't be tried as an adult in front of a jury unless there were extenuating circumstances."

Trowa felt the beginnings of a headache in his temples and settled back in his chair, trying to relax his shoulders. "God, those were the very same laws that Quatre's lawyers used to protect us."

Heero's eyebrows raised. "Yes, I know. The irony hasn't escaped me, either."

"So, if he gets sent to one of these facilities, what happens to him?"

"Nothing much. He'd be held there till he turns twenty-one, and if he's conformed to the program to their satisfaction, he's released with a clean record."

Trowa raised his hand to his forehead and began to massage his temples. "So basically he just has to bide his time for three years and then gets to walk away like an honest citizen?"

"Basically."

"That stinks."

"Yeah." Heero sounded depressed.

The knots in Trowa's shoulders and neck refused to loosen. "I need an aspirin and a stiff drink."

Heero closed his laptop and rose to his feet with admirable grace for someone who had been sitting on granite flagstones for the past half hour. "I'll get us some beers."

"Heero Yuy, you are _not_ having beer before lunch!" called a feminine voice from somewhere above their heads.

Trowa looked up and saw Relena leaning out of a second story window, and after consulting a mental blueprint, he realized they were sitting directly below her office. He noticed she had a red pen in her hand. "Morning, Relena," he called back, giving her a wave. She grinned back.

"Fine," Heero said to her. "In the interests of good nutrition, we'll have beers _with_ lunch. Care to join us?"

"It's a little early, but..." she shrugged, "I suppose I could use a break. I'll be down in a few minutes." She pulled herself back inside, shutting the window behind her.

Trowa wondered if the red pen in her hand was for editing Duo's report and had to laugh at the thought of Duo essentially asking her to look over his homework. "She'd make a great schoolteacher," he said.

"Considering how much experience she has with ill-mannered, ignorant, selfish, foul-tempered adults, I don't think being a schoolteacher would pose much of a challenge for her."

"Bitter much?"

"Let's just say I damn near capered with glee when she announced this was her last term as Vice Foreign Minister."

Trowa had to smile at the mental image of Heero Yuy capering, and was still smiling minutes later when the woman herself showed up carrying a large tray filled with sandwiches, strawberries, and beer. Trowa's stomach suddenly reminded him that he hadn't paid it any attention since dawn. He tried not to appear too greedy as he reached for one of the tall, sweating bottles and a chicken sandwich, but he needn't have bothered. Heero was all over the food like a wolf on an injured lamb.

Relena wisely held back until the two men had served themselves before taking her own portion of the meal. "I'm nearly finished with Duo's report," she said as she seated herself into a deck chair next to Trowa's. He noticed some inkstains on her fingers.

"Did you have to do a lot of work on it?" he asked.

"No, not really. He was very detailed and thorough--maybe a little too thorough. I had to get rid of some of his more, er, _colorful_ adjectives." She blushed slightly, but she was smiling.

Heero had inhaled his first sandwich and was reaching for a second. "How'd he handle the shooting?" he asked. "I haven't gotten that far yet."

Relena smiled and took a sip of beer to wash down her own mouthful. "He said that he saw Yates knock down Agent Chang with his elbow. He then saw Yates begin to run. He heard a gunshot, and then Yates fell to the ground with a wound to the right thigh. When he looked around to see who had fired the shot, he found both Agent Chang and Deputy Agent Winner on the ground, neither of whom had a gun in their hands." Her smile grew catlike. "And that's all he had to say about it."

Heero huffed around his second sandwich. "Knowing Duo I'm sure that would pass a lie-detector."

Trowa felt lost. "But...Quatre shot him, didn't he?"

"Rumor and hearsay," Relena said in a voice that brooked no argument. "This is Duo's sworn account of what happened."

"But Quatre said..."

Relena placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Trowa, Quatre had just been stabilized after partial respiratory arrest and still had a very high fever when he was initially questioned. He was _non compos mentis _by all accounts. It's not admissible."

"But later on, when he told me--"

"Rumor and hearsay," Relena repeated patiently. "Wufei was tested positive for gun smoke residue on his hands. There was some residue on Quatre's sleeves, but Wufei swore under oath that he'd loaned Quatre his own jacket and that it might have been there from target practice sessions. Duo was clean. Wufei claimed that he'd fired a warning shot into the air, and there was a bullet recovered from the crime scene. It was a different caliber from the one extracted from Yates's thigh. The gun near Quatre was the right caliber, but it was missing its clip."

"He was unarmed?" Trowa asked, utterly bewildered by now.

"He'd taken the clip out of the gun earlier, according to Wufei's report. You're right, he was essentially unarmed."

"So who shot Yates?"

She gave him an elaborate shrug. "Who knows? Duo saw nothing, Wufei merely fired a warning shot, and Quatre was unable to give testimony."

Heero was chuckling quietly over the crust of his sandwich. "Relena, you really missed your calling. You should have been an actress."

Relena seemed amused by that. "Heero, three-quarters of my job _is_ acting. Haven't you been watching my press conferences?"

"Not it I can help it. They put me to sleep"

"I wish I had that option."

"Soon," Heero said, placing a hand on her knee and giving it an affectionate squeeze.

Trowa hated to break their mood, but he was beginning to realize he didn't have the whole story and it was driving him crazy, like an itch he couldn't quite reach. "Heero, I've changed my mind, I think I would like a copy of Duo's statement."

"Do you want the edited version?" Relena asked. "I should be finished with it in another hour or two."

"No, the original will be fine. I think I can cope with Duo's adjectives."

She laughed and picked up a few strawberries from the white bowl in the center of the lunch tray. "I must say I'm glad to see you beginning to take an interest in things again," she said.

"Have I been that bad?"

From the look the couple were exchanging, he gathered he really had been that bad. "I understand why you might want a break from the outside world, Trowa," Relena started, diplomatically, "but when it went on and on, it started to worry me."

Heero said, less diplomatically, "It isn't normal for you to break out in a cold sweat when you see a newspaper, Trowa. You used to be such a news freak, and now it seems like it's against your religion or something."

Trowa opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again when he realized what Heero was saying was true. He _had _been avoiding the news. He'd read nothing but novels since his arrival, avoided television unless there was a documentary or interesting movie showing, and he hadn't even touched the radio. He had brought his laptop with him, but he didn't think he'd even taken it out of its case, much less bothered to set it up. Heero was right; that really was unusual for him. He didn't understand it. What in the world was he trying so hard to avoid?

"Gentlemen," Relena said, standing up, "thank you very much for the lovely break, but duty calls. I must get back to my torture chamber--er, office, now."

"Thank you for bringing lunch. The chicken salad sandwiches were great," Heero said. He must have liked them--he'd eaten four of the damn things. Trowa didn't know where the hell he put it all, he really didn't.

"Thank you for all the insights," he said, standing up as well. "That's been the most informative picnic I've ever had."

"My pleasure." Relena turned to go back into the house, but after a few steps she stopped herself short and spun around. "Oh! I forgot to tell you, Trowa," she said, and later on he would swear that her eyes were sparkling with impish delight. "The mail's come. You have a letter."

* * *

From the waist up, Lady Une was pressed, polished and poised. Her uniform blouse was still crisp, her hair still glossy, and her eyes as clear and alert clear and alert as they had been when she'd stepped into her office that morning. Underneath the desk, however, she wore pizza-stained sweatpants and furry pink slippers with floppy rabbit ears sewn on them. Just because she needed to pull the occasional twelve-hour day didn't mean she needed to be uncomfortable the entire time. "Council McInnes," she said to the image on the video screen, "thank you for contacting me."

He nodded his silver-haired head at her briefly. "I apologize that it had to be this late, Director. I'd been hoping to get this finished by the end of the business day, but you know how these things can drag on."

She didn't, but she agreed anyway. "Yes, most unfortunate."

"I suppose you'd like me to cut to the chase, then?"

"I would appreciate it."

"Fine." McInnes consulted his datapad for a moment. "Yates's case has gone to High Council. So has Ervy's."

Une resisted an urge to cheer. "That's good news, isn't it?" she asked, settling for a professional smile. McInnes didn't smile, precisely, but his facial muscles relaxed and ten years dropped from his apparent age.

"Yes, it's very good news. The Council thought it best to speed things along since public opinion over Yates's crimes is rather heated. The stories that have leaked to the press haven't done anything to improve his reputation."

Une didn't doubt it. Investigation teams had uncovered no less than sixty illegal toxic waste dumps that could be traced back to Green Earth Reclaim, and that was on Earth alone. God only knew how many there were hidden in space. The cleanup costs would run into the hundreds of millions, but no price could be put on the number of human lives that had been compromised from contaminated soil and water. In this case, Une thought public opinion was justified.

"There is just one thing, though," McInnes continued. "I'm afraid I'll have to ask Agent Chang and his, er, deputies to attend the trial. Council Milkiss insisted on it."

"Milkiss?"

"Yates's council. She received copies of reports from both Chang and Maxwell, but claims that all three of them need to be on hand for questioning. She seems to believe the reports are incomplete."

Une frowned. "I thought we'd arranged it so Chang, Maxwell and Winner wouldn't have to be personally involved in the trial. Wasn't that what the reports were all about?"

"Forgive me, Director, but I said the chances were very small that they would be involved, not nonexistent. I did my best, but Ada Milkiss is technically within her rights to ask them to be available. They will have to be sequestered, of course."

Chang wasn't going to like that. In fact, it was safe to say that he would pitch a very carefully controlled fit over it. Maxwell wouldn't be happy either, and she shuddered to think of what methods she might have to employ to gain his compliance. Winner would probably go without too much of a fight, but only after pelting her with dozens of questions she wouldn't be able to answer and making her feel like an ogre. She sighed quietly and closed her eyes. This was not going to be a pleasant task.

"Director, is there a problem?" McInnes asked, suddenly full of avuncular concern.

"Are you certain there's no way to keep them from being personally involved? Their lives have been disrupted enough as it is."

"I'm sorry, Director, but no. I did the best I could."

"Damn," she said, very, very quietly.

"I'm sorry," he said again, "but if you give me their contact numbers, I'll call them tomorrow morning. There's no need for you to be the bearer of bad news."

She brushed her hair away from her face and tried to smile, but it seemed like too much effort. "Thank you, Council. That's very kind of you."

"It's part of my job." He glanced at something offscreen and frowned. "And now I see that it almost _is_ tomorrow morning, I'll bid you good night."

She murmured a polite goodbye to him and cut off the video feed, which had been the only light in the room aside from the city light coming through the cracks in the blinds. "Uncle Jacob," she said, addressing the ceiling, "I should have followed your footsteps and become a plumber. I'd probably have far less shit to deal with."

* * *

At four o'clock in the afternoon, the flickering lights did what they had been threatening to do all day and winked out. Trowa barely noticed.

He had been sitting in his suite most of the day, pretending to read but actually spending most of his time gazing off into space and listening to the raindrops ticking off the window. The only words he was really interested in were the ones on the single sheet of notepaper he had put in the rolltop desk the day before. He couldn't bear to actually bring it out to re-read it, but then again, he had already memorized the few scant lines on the paper an hour after he had received it. They were indelibly etched into his brain.

_Trowa, _the note began, with no salutation save the name, _I'm nearly recovered, thank you for asking. I'm going back to work soon. _

That was good news, the kind Trowa had hoped for when he had written his own letter. He was well, he was working. That should have eased Trowa's mind, but somehow it didn't.

_Wufei has been helping me adjust to a normal routine, _the note went on, and Trowa honestly didn't know what to think about that. He tried not to think about it at all, but it's well known that the harder you try not to think about something, the more it seems to pop up randomly among other thoughts.

The note ended: _I hope you are well, _and then he'd signed his name--a big, looping _Q_ with the tiny scribbled _uatre _sitting on its elongated tail. Again, there was no closing statement, not even a 'sincerely'.

Trowa was busy pondering what that meant, if anything, when a knock at the door nearly startled him into a heart attack. He scrambled up from the sofa and pulled the door open a cautious few centimeters to see Heero standing there with a flashlight in his hand.

"The power's out," said Heero.

"Yes," Trowa said, "I noticed." And he had--not that it made any difference to him. He didn't need light to read what was in his mind.

"It's liable to be out for a while," Heero said. "These spring storms can go on for days."

Desperate to get back to his silent brooding, Trowa tried to hurry him along to the point. "You must have a generator."

He nodded. "Sure, but it only powers up about half the west wing. If you want heat and light, you'll have to move into one of those suites."

"Oh, I see. No problem, then." It wasn't like Trowa had a hell of a lot to move.

"You'll have to double up with someone."

On second thought... "Thanks, Heero, but I'll stay here."

Heero wasn't the type to sigh or roll his eyes, but he managed to convey a sense of resigned disapproval all the same. "It'll get cold," he said.

"The fireplace works, doesn't it?"

"Yes," Heero admitted reluctantly. "I suppose it does. The chimneys are swept every summer."

"And I noticed a couple of hurricane lamps on the mantle. That should be fine for light." Trowa spoke with the confidence of experience. Although the antique kerosene lamps were delicate and ornamental, they still held fuel in their reservoirs, and any soot that might accumulate in their chimneys could easily be cleaned with a wad of fresh newsprint.

"They should be enough to read by, if that's what you were doing."

Trowa nodded. "That's what I'm doing. Reading and studying." It wasn't a complete lie. Studying could be a form of meditation, and meditation was almost indistinguishable from brooding to an outside observer. Besides, 'studying' sounded far less judgmental than 'brooding'.

Heero appeared to approve of it, at any rate. "That's fine. Most of the staff have been sent home, but I'm sure you can fend for yourself."

"Thanks, Heero." Trowa nodded at him and began to close the door, eager to get the fire going and the lamps lit so he could continue his lonely ruminations.

Heero stuck his foot in the door before Trowa could close it completely. "Wait. I have some news you might be interested in."

Trowa eased the door open again, although he couldn't imagine that any news from the outside might be of interest. "What is it?"

Heero held out a couple of stapled pages. "I got this message from Duo about an hour ago. The Preventer's council has called him into court."

Trowa took the papers and tried to read them, but the clouds had grown so heavy that he couldn't make out the words. "I thought it was going to be a High Council trial...no jury, no witnesses. Duo already gave his written testimony, didn't he?"

"Yes."

"But he's being summoned anyway?"

"Yes. So are Wufei and Quatre. They're going to be sequestered at the L-2 Judicial Administration building for the duration--that's where the trial's being held."

"Sequestered? Isn't that a little harsh?" Trowa's heart began to beat too fast.

Heero shrugged. "That's how it's done."

Trowa heard a crumpling sound and wondered vaguely where it was coming from. "I see. Thanks for the information."

"Sure thing," Heero said, and walked off.

Trowa wasted no time lighting the hurricane lamps and setting them down on the rolltop desk--carefully, though; his hands were shaking--and he put Duo's message down alongside the note from Quatre. It was wrinkled badly. He realized that the crumpling sound he'd heard earlier was his own fist tightening on the paper.

He flattened it out and began to read. The first and clearest impression he got was that Duo was clearly not happy over the entire thing. He didn't appreciate being dragged away from Hilde and his work and his home, and he'd let Heero know about it no uncertain terms. Trowa didn't blame him. He skimmed over the rest of it and found that the trial was to begin on the twenty-first of March, just five days from now. Duo and the others were to arrive the day before that.

A ratlike panic began to over come him. Four days! He had only four days to figure out what he wanted to say to Quatre and how to say it. Four days wasn't nearly long enough. Four _years_ wasn't going to be long enough! He had so much he wanted to say, but it was tangled up in his head in an ugly snarl and he couldn't get the words to come out right, even in his own mind.

After a few minutes of frantic pacing, he sat down at the desk and pulled out the stationery, and he started to write. It was nonsense, an undisciplined burst of garbage straight from his subconscious, and it scared him a little. He was a meticulous person by nature, more at home with lists and step-by-step instructions than with stream-of-consciousness, and the cold sweat poured down his ribs as the words poured out of him. When his hand cramped, he got up and paced till it quit hurting, then he sat down and wrote some more.

When the power came on twelve hours after it had first gone off, he caught sight of himself in a polished oval mirror hung near the fireplace. At first, he didn't recognize the red-eyed, unshaved madman sitting there clutching a blanket around himself with inkstained fingers, surrounded by balled-up pieces of stationery. He might have cried out a little in surprise--he didn't remember. He did remember sitting for a long time waiting for his breathing to settle down, closing his eyes against the vertigo of physical and emotional exhaustion.

In the midst of all that turmoil, he had a moment of clarity. More importantly, he had an idea. A crazy, stupid, and completely wonderful idea. He began to grin like the lunatic he looked like, then he finally gave into his body's demands and staggered off to bed to sleep like the dead.

When he woke, it was just before oh-eight hundred. Relena would have gone off to her office by then, but Heero would still be sitting at the breakfast table reading the comics or gloating over his stocks or whatever he did with the newspaper that made him smile that weird little smile.

He didn't bother with his shoes, he just pounded down to the breakfast table in his jeans, sweater, and blanket. Heero was, indeed, sitting there with a cup of coffee and the newspaper, but he wasn't smiling, he was glaring suspiciously.

"Heero, I need your help," Trowa blurted out.

He looked him over from head to foot, which Trowa might have found insulting under other circumstances. "I think the kind of help you need is beyond my capacity," he said dryly.

Trowa took the seat next to his and pushed his newspaper aside. "Please, I need a favor. I know you can help me."

Heero physically recoiled. "Are you _sick_?"

"No, no. I know you can do this for me. I need a job."

"So go get one. I suggest you brush your teeth first, though."

"I need a specific job," Trowa said, and told him about his idea.

To his credit, Heero listened patiently and didn't interrupt until Trowa was finished with his tale of writer's block, panic, and his subsequent grand epiphany. "It's crazy, you know," he said when the story was finished.

"Yes, I know."

"And stupid."

"I know that too."

Heero stared at him for a long time, as intently as if judging the worth of his soul as well as his idea. Finally, he sighed. "It might work. I'll see what I can do."


	12. Preparations

**Title:** Never Turn Your Back on the Sea (12)  
**Section Title:** Preparations  
**Author:** Alleyprowler  
**Pairings:** (None for this section)  
**Rating:** R for language

**Summary:** Different people dealing with stress in sometimes not-very-productive ways.

* * *

"I spy with my little eye..." Duo said as he stretched his legs out comfortably. He placed his left index finger casually under his left eye and stared at a spot on the ceiling. Quatre glanced in that direction and saw a pair of surveillance cameras embedded near the emergency lights, black and shiny as beetles' wings. They could have been specks of soot but for their telltale glassy reflection.  
  
"The vents on every aisle, as well" Quatre observed, pointing upward with his index finger as he pretended to scratch the side of his nose. He spared them only the merest glance before tipping his head back on the well-padded seat with a sigh.  
  
Dull décor and bugs aside, the government shuttle was actually quite comfortable. The swiveling, reclining seats in the cabin were arranged in facing pairs with a fold-down table in between so that the passengers could socialize if they chose to, or they could swing the seats around, away from the table, if they desired privacy. Come to think of it, the shuttle probably was a retired tourist liner, bought on the cheap and painted battleship grey to make it look more official. Sometimes budget restrictions could be a good thing.  
  
Duo ran his fingers over the controls embedded in the front of the armrest. "What do you want to bet the sound system works both ways?"  
  
Quatre grinned. "I'm not going to bet against that."  
  
Wufei stalked back from the self-serve bar in the back of the passenger cabin, looking scandalized, and sat down stiffly in one of the seats opposite Quatre and Duo. "There's a /microphone/ in the /washroom/!"  
  
Quatre wasn't surprised by that; he'd been expecting it, actually, and would have been disappointed if there /hadn't/ been some sort of surveillance in the head. "At least there weren't any cameras."  
  
Next to him, Duo chuckled. "They've been watching too many spy movies," he said. "That old cliché where the conspirators gather in the bathroom and turn on all the taps so they can foil the bugs and plot and scheme in secrecy."  
  
"Right. Like background noise can't be filtered," Wufei said, and then he winced as Duo kicked him underneath the table.  
  
"Hey, don't give them any ideas!"  
  
"I'm not giving them any ideas they haven't had before," Wufei said coolly as he opened his bottle of fruit juice, "And if you don't want those great big boots of yours stuffed down the waste disposal unit, you will kindly keep them away from my ankles in the future."  
  
"Guys, please. A little decorum for the cameras," Quatre said, trying to sound stern and not at all amused. He wasn't sure if he succeeded.  
  
Wufei scowled painfully, as if he'd developed a sudden toothache. "The /washroom/, of all places..."  
  
"Might as well get used to it, Wufei. We're living in a fishbowl from now on," Duo said with a philosophical shrug.  
  
"That doesn't mean I have to like it," Wufei said, and Quatre had to agree. Between the three of them, they probably had at least half a dozen ways to foil the tiny cameras and microphones without making it look like they had been tampered with, and indeed that had been his first reaction upon discovering the bugs. The only thing that stopped him was the realization that the surveillance was for his and his companions' benefit. The tiny cameras and microphones were a safety measure, not a threat. But, as Wufei said, that didn't mean he had to like it.  
  
"Hey, is that the Admin Center?" Duo asked, leaning toward the porthole. "It looks...weird, somehow."  
  
Leaning forward, Quatre could make out the giant wheel of the L2 Administrative Center turning slowly in the middle distance. This was the first time he'd seen it completed, and he felt a spark of pride knowing that he'd had something to do with it. "That may be because its hull is nearly brand new--it was one of the first major government contracts the Maguanac secured, and let me tell you, it was a challenge to restore it!"  
  
"It seems small," Duo said. He had his nose pressed flat to the cold glass of the porthole. "Or is that just my imagination?"  
  
Quatre shook his head. "It really is small, and that was one of the challenges. It's only eighty percent the size of a standard residential colony, so we couldn't use any prefabricated parts. We had to manufacture every single plate from recycled bits and pieces, most of which were purchased from Sweepers III."  
  
The look on Duo's face when he whipped around to face Quatre was most gratifying. "You're kidding me! The Administrative Center is made up of my scrap?"  
  
"The hull is made up of material from old Taurus and Space Leo dolls. It seemed fitting, since most of the damage was done during the Libra battle. It's a good thing most of it was superficial or it wouldn't have held for the last ten years. Did you know that that colony is just over two hundred years old?"  
  
Duo raised an eyebrow. To the spaceborn, two hundred years ago was practically prehistory. "Seriously?"  
  
"Yes, it's one of the oldest colonies still in use. Some of the more important buildings, like the High Court, are actually pre-Colony buildings transported from Earth, stone by stone, when the colony was built."  
  
Duo frankly gaped at him. "Stone buildings on a colony? Were they insane?"  
  
Quatre shrugged; maybe they were and maybe they weren't, but the original architects were long dead by now and beyond any reproach. "I suppose expense took a back seat to tradition in those days."  
  
"Weird, but impressive. I wonder what it's like inside?"  
  
"We'll find out in about ten minutes," Wufei said, checking his watch.  
  
The shuttle was changing its approach now, circling in on the colony's shuttle bay. Just before the colony disappeared from view, Quatre could see the shuttle bay hatch sliding open like an enormous pair of jaws. He turned his head away. This was going to be his first real encounter with the criminal justice system, and he couldn't help thinking that if circumstances had been just a little bit different, he would have been experiencing it from the other side.

* * *

"Hey you! New guy!"  
  
"Tom."  
  
"Tom, then," the assistant chef said dismissively, waving his hand, "get a couple loaves of that foccacia out of the cooler and set 'em in the proof box, and chop up an extra bucket of spuds, willya?"  
  
"Sure thing" The new assistant prep cook gave the sweating man a nod and jogged off to the cooler to get the bread. Everything was done at a jog--the High Court was a busy place, and its kitchens were no exception. Tom, as the nameless man was now calling himself, had nearly gone into sensory overload the first few days he had worked there. The noise, the heat, the smells, the endless ordering about had been just about all his already frayed nerves could take.  
  
However, he was an adaptable person. He soon found his rhythm, extracted order from chaos, and discovered that he actually liked the work--"Hey, new guy!"--except for the fact that the other workers could not seem to remember his name, which he had chosen explicitly for its simplicity.  
  
"What is it, Carlos?" he asked, turning around to face the short, grinning man who had hailed him.  
  
"I just wanted to give you the heads up, we got some visitors just came in."  
  
Tom tried not to let anything show on his face, but his heart began to race. "Visitors? Like tourists?"  
  
"Tourists? Here?" Carlos looked at him as if he was simple. "Nah, got a big trial coming up, High Council and all. Very hush-hush. Anyway, it means a few sad citizens are getting themselves sequestered, meaning they can't eat in the cafeteria. They gotta order from their rooms, see."  
  
Tom raised an eyebrow and pushed his black rimmed spectacles higher on his nose. "Room service?"  
  
"Sort of, yeah. Anyway, I was wondering if you could kinda keep an ear out for the phone by the prep station. I'd ask Artie, but that old bugger's more'n half deaf and too vain to admit it."  
  
A faint smile was all Tom would show of the euphoria growing in his chest. "I guess I can do that. Do you want me to run the meals up, too?"  
  
"Nice of you to offer, kid, but we got a dumbwaiter system for that. The food gets there fast and hot and nobody's gotta run up and down the damn stairs."  
  
Tom had noticed compartments and the keypads along the back wall of the kitchen, but since they had been passed over during his orientation, he hadn't given them a second thought. "Those go right up to the rooms, huh?"  
  
"Yep. Works right nicely too."  
  
/Not for long,/ Tom thought, narrowing his green eyes at them. /Not for long at all./

* * *

"My ears," Duo declared, "are enormous." He scowled viciously at the laminated ID card he had been issued by some faceless Administrative Center lackey. More specifically, he scowled at the photo on it.  
  
"Your ears are fine," Quatre said. He sat down on his bed next to his suitcase and contemplated putting his things away in the chest of drawers, but he couldn't quite summon up the will to do it. He wanted lunch and a nap. What he was getting was a Duo-induced headache.  
  
"They're huge! Seriously, I look like a freak." Duo peered at his reflection in the tiny mirror over the nightstand and poked at his ears. "Look how they stick out--how come nobody ever told me how huge they are?"  
  
"Because they're perfectly ordinary ears, Duo," Quatre explained with forced patience. Maybe holding a rendezvous in his suite hadn't been such a good idea after all. At least, not till after they'd had a chance to rest and eat something. They had spent what was left of the morning being photographed, fingerprinted, lectured to, and admonished not to leave the seventh floor without a guard so many times that Quatre felt like breaking into one of the other floors out of sheer spite.  
  
Duo yanked on his ear again. "This is awful. Did you know that your ears and nose keep growing your entire life? By the time I'm sixty I'll look like a damn elephant. Hey, maybe I can learn to wiggle them! Do you think I could fly?"  
  
"Duo, you're talking nonsense," Quatre said.  
  
Duo grinned at him. "Sorry, man, it's low blood sugar. I rushed through breakfast this morning and I'm starving--it makes me a little crazy." He sat down on the bed next to Quatre and flopped onto his back with a gusty sigh. "What the hell is Wufei doing, anyway?"  
  
"Probably checking his things. He really didn't like it much when they went through our bags," Quatre said, looking at his own unpacked suitcase. His headache stepped up a notch.  
  
"He should've expected that. Me, I'm just glad they didn't do a cavity search. Although," he said, sitting up and jabbing Quatre in the ribs, "you might have enjoyed that, huh?"  
  
"Duo..." Quatre wanted to tell him to shut up, to take his big floppy ears and go back to his own room, or perhaps throw himself out the window, but he suddenly didn't have the heart to do it. Duo probably felt the same way he did--tired, hungry, edgy, bewildered, and not a little put out--and honestly hadn't intended to mean any harm, but Quatre's patience was about as thin as the cheap toilet tissue in his ensuite bathroom, and he just couldn't take much more. He hunched over his knees and began to massage his temples, trying to block everything out. Duo, the anonymous and sterile suite, the general situation...everything.  
  
"Hey, I'm sorry," Duo said, sounding genuinely contrite. "That was a rotten thing to say. Here, lay down and I'll rub your head for you."  
  
Sighing a little, Quatre arranged himself on the bed with his head in Duo's lap. Duo had a grip of iron and could practically crush rocks to powder with his bare hands, but he had a wonderful touch and gave excellent massages. Tense muscles practically melted under his fingers, and Quatre gradually felt his headache begin to give up and slink away in defeat. "Thanks, Duo," he said, feeling much better now that his shoulder muscles weren't so tight.  
  
"No problem. Are you sure my ears aren't too big?"  
  
"They're fine."  
  
"They're not, you know, too sticky-outy?"  
  
Quatre decided the only way to get Duo to shut up about his ears was to play along with him. "You have wonderful ears. Really, they're beautiful. They're the Platonic ideal of ears. Sonnets could be written about them, portraits painted, ballads sung. You should have them cast in bronze so that future generations can gaze in wonder at the miracle of perfection that are your ears."  
  
"If I'm interrupting something, I can come back."  
  
Quatre hadn't heard Wufei entering the room, probably because Duo was snickering madly. The scene probably did look a little peculiar from Wufei's point of view, and Quatre felt his cheeks getting warm as he sat up and smoothed down his rumpled hair. "What took you so long?" he asked, reasoning that putting Wufei on the defensive would probably forestall any embarrassing questions.  
  
"I had to check my gear, and I took a quick shower while I was at it." He helped himself to one of the club chairs in Quatre's bedroom. "Nothing was damaged or stolen, thankfully."  
  
Quatre, who had only brought over things on the officially approved list, wondered what Wufei had brought that could possibly be damaged or stolen. According to the notice they had received, they were not allowed to have any electronic devices, including but not limited to data storage, media recording-playback, or portable gaming systems. Any jewelry aside from wristwatches were banned as well. Medications needed to be accompanied by proper documentation from an established medical authority.  
  
There were other things on the list, but Quatre had decided he was safe with packing a weeks' worth of clothing and basic toiletries. If they had problems with his choice of toothpaste, he would deal with it when the time came. "That's good, Wufei," he said with a pasted-on smile. "Shall we order lunch?"  
  
Duo was one step ahead of him. He pushed a faux-leather booklet into Quatre's hands and settled down near the head of the bed by the phone, which was a curious affair with only a handset and three buttons. Quatre assumed the red one was for emergencies, but he hadn't got around to investigating the other two. "I already know what I want. Fish and chips--the gold standard of any Colony restaurant worth its weight in rating stars."  
  
Wufei chuckled. "You're braver than I am. Colony fish are more than I want to gamble. I'll take whatever special they're having, as long as there's no seafood involved."  
  
Quatre frowned at the menu, his vision rendered blurry by fatigue and hunger. "The special is some kind of pasta dish...vermicelli with pesto sauce and salad on the side. Are you sure that's okay?"  
  
Wufei nodded. "That sounds fine."  
  
Quatre looked back down at the menu, especially at the photograph of the daily special. The steaming plate of thin pasta covered in pesto sauce made him feel a strange mixture of revulsion and longing that he couldn't quite understand. His stomach seemed to do a slow, lazy barrel-roll and he studied the picture more intently. The pesto sauce glistened green with basil and walnut oil on the long pasta strands; the steam vented out of the top of the picture in enticing white clouds. He sniffed, trying to catch the elusive scent...  
  
...and then Duo yanked the menu out of his hands. "I suppose you want the special, too?"  
  
"No!" Quatre jerked himself out of his reverie and took back the menu. "No, I hate pesto." He frantically scanned the other menu items, comparing their illustrations to their descriptions. "Let me see...oh, the number seventeen looks good. I'll have that."  
  
Duo took the menu back and scanned it while he picked up the phone. He shot a dubious look at Quatre. "'Select marinated and roasted vegetables on olive-oil brushed foccacia?' In other words, you want veggies and bread?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You're weird, Quatre."  
  
"Whatever you say." Quatre was too tired to argue.  
  
Duo snorted and picked up the phone. "Yes, hello, is this the kitchen? Great. I've got an order for you."

* * *

Tom scribbled down the order, pausing to clarify things to the caller. "The fish is local cod, sir, farmed just this morning from a local hatchery. The potatoes are Idagolds imported from Earth, very firm and delicate, if I may say. The frying oil is quite pure, yes. I can assure you that your chips will be done to a turn. Good day, sir, and may you enjoy your lunch."  
  
Tom wiped his brow without dislodging the round white cap that kept his hair out of his face. He tore the ticket up into careful thirds and posted each one at the appropriate stations. That done, he dashed off to fetch a fresh notepad. He paused, doubled back, and ran to the standing rack that held the wrappings. Metal foil, plastic, parchment, cheap white greaseproof...he tore off a strip of baking parchment and ran back to his station.

* * *

Colony buildings do not , as a rule, have basements. The larger ones have support stanchions that penetrate the foundation all the way through the deck plating, which was really more than enough to keep them stable. The L2 Administrative Center was unique in that it had levels underneath the building, and even underneath the deck plating, levels that went outward to the colony hull.  
  
Normally, the sealed cells between the hull and deck plates on a colony was simply a dead-air buffer, a safety feature in case of a hull breach. Some sections held the larger machinery a colony needed to survive, like the environmental controls and drift compensators, and of course there was the elaborate arrangement of pipes, tanks and filters that made up the water recycling system.  
  
The null space between the life-rich colony interior and the cold vacuum of the cosmos was rarely used for human habitation. That is, unless the humans in question were being either paid huge amounts of money or were being punished.  
  
The guards in the L2 holding station were paid an awful lot of money. They spent long shifts in the dim, stuffy, stinking metal tombs beneath the Administrative Center overseeing the security of the most reviled lot of local humanity, so they deserved the pay.  
  
Sometimes, though, money wasn't enough.  
  
Warder Gil Hammins sighed and made his way to the steel door where all the banging was coming from. It was one of twenty, lined up in rows of ten on either side of the short corridor on his cell block, and it was by far the noisiest.  
  
"What is it /now/, Yates?" he asked through the coin-sized square of metal mesh set deep in the thick door.  
  
"It stinks in here!"  
  
Hammins sighed patiently. "That's because we're right under the sewage treatment tank for this sector. You'll get used to it."  
  
The man seemed to be having an apoplectic attack judging by the amount of outraged spluttering that came from behind the door. Only a few coherent words came out, and they were all words that Hammins would have taken his own son over his knee for using. Unfortunately, one could not use such physical punishment for prisoners.  
  
There were, however, other ways.  
  
Hammins tapped one of the buttons beside the door and was gratified when the half-mangled curses stopped. "Half an hour for language," he informed the prisoner.  
  
"Give me the lights back! I can't see a goddamned thing!"  
  
"That's the point," Hammins said, examining his nails.  
  
"What do you mean? I have my rights! You can't do this to me!"  
  
Hammins wondered if it was too late in life to take up another career. Gardening, perhaps. "I can assure you, Mr. Yates, that turning off the lights is no violation of your civil rights. Mainly because you don't have any. You, /sir/, are a prisoner charged with crimes against humanity, which is why you are under lock and key. Your so-called rights were revoked once the authorities decided they had enough evidence against you to put you away. Or didn't they explain that when they charged you?"  
  
"Brutality...my lawyer...I have rights...I AM GOING TO SUE YOU!"  
  
"That's nice," Hammins said. He was beginning to get bored. He received highly creative death threats at least three times per shift; the threat of a lawsuit was almost laughably tame by comparison. He wondered if there was anything interesting on television.  
  
"Hey..." Yates said in a calmer tone of voice.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Look. I'm a reasonable guy. You seem like a reasonable guy. We're a couple of reasonable guys, right?"  
  
Hammins snorted laughter. He didn't believe that Yates was trying the 'let's be friends' act so soon after the 'toddler-style tantrum' act. "No, sir. I am a reasonable man, as you say, but you, by all accounts, are a psychotically greedy bastard with no sense of right or wrong. The newsfeeds are calling you a modern plague, and I suspect they haven't even gotten the whole story yet. Making friends with me won't work. I don't like you. The media doesn't like you. The public doesn't like you. The law especially doesn't like you. That is why you are on one side of that door and I am on the other. The light controls happen to be on /this/ side, and you have half an hour in the dark. Enjoy your stay."  
  
Gardening, yes. Or maybe bicycle repair? Hammins weighed his options as he strolled back to his station.

* * *

The light above the quaint little cupboard blinked twice and there was a pleasant chirping sound as the dumbwaiter arrived. Quatre, feeling a little lightheaded from hunger, lay back on the bed and groaned.  
  
"What the hell?" Duo asked.  
  
"Food," Wufei said laconically. He pulled himself out of the club chair and opened the doors of the dumbwaiter. "Here's you, er, fish, Duo," he said, passing a covered plate to Duo, who took it with a suspicious frown.  
  
"It had damn well better be fish for what they're charging," he muttered under his breath.  
  
"Since you're not actually paying for it, that's a pretty lame threat," Wufei pointed out. He peeked under the cover of the second dish and held it out toward Quatre. "Your sandwich," he said.  
  
"I'm not paying for it?" Duo said. "Who says?"  
  
Wufei chuffed in irritation. "Did you sleep through the whole orientation?"  
  
"No, just the boring parts," Duo said, poking his fish with a fork. He seemed relieved when it didn't try to fight back.  
  
Wufei raised an eyebrow. "Three hundred credits per diem for food and supplies is boring?"  
  
Duo dropped a chip on the floor. "We have a per diem?"  
  
"Is there an echo in here? All potential witnesses at a High Council get a per diem to offset loss of income while under sequesterment. Quatre, take your damn sandwich already."  
  
"I'll wait till your food gets here," Quatre said.  
  
"Fine." Wufei set the plate down on the bed next to the reclining man and waited somewhat impatiently for the dumbwaiter to return from the kitchen.  
  
"We have a per diem and I didn't order caviar?" Duo regarded his fish with disappointment.  
  
"You hate caviar," Quatre pointed out.  
  
"It's the principle of the thing."  
  
"You can go nuts ordering from the commissary," Wufei said.  
  
The dumbwaiter chimed, and he took out his own lunch, plus three tall glasses containing their drinks. Only when Wufei had seated himself and settled his drink at his elbow did Quatre sit up and begin to attend to his own lunch.  
  
As with everything else he'd encountered since arriving on the colony, Wufei was mildly impressed with his meal. It was competently, if not imaginatively prepared, much like the suites were adequately clean and comfortable without being frivolous. From what he could tell, the safety and security measures were sound. Everyone who had any business above the lobby level of the building was required to wear a laminated ID badge on a lanyard at all times, and the badge also acted as a keycard that would only operate in areas in which the owner had legitimate business.  
  
Wufei's badge, like Duo and Quatre's, had a thin yellow and black checked border around it. Yellow, he knew from a pamphlet he'd read during the orientation, was the color for visitors, who were restricted to the areas completely covered by scrutiny of both the electronic and human variety. He supposed the black somehow modified the yellow and allowed the three of them to have a degree of freedom above the normal rabble...that is, as long as they stayed on the seventh floor.  
  
"We're going exploring after lunch, right?" Duo asked. He'd apparently been convinced that his fish was, indeed, real fish and not surimi or something equally as repulsive, and was packing it away with satisfaction.  
  
"We don't have anything else to do till tomorrow morning," Quatre said, who was also making significant headway on his own lunch.  
  
"No more orientations?"  
  
"No, we got here a day ahead of the Chief High Justice, so we have the rest of the day to ourselves," Quatre said, and took another large bite of his sandwich.  
  
"Good," Duo said. "I'm kind of curious about the entertainment facilities they have around here. There's supposed to be a gym, and a media center, but I kind of doubt there's room for--Quatre? Are you okay?"  
  
Wufei set his plate aside and moved to stand up as Duo began to whack Quatre on the back, but Quatre was not choking. He had made an awfully strange noise, though, but Wufei thought it sounded more like surprise than distress.  
  
He was pulling something out of his sandwich with his teeth. It was a long, thin, flat something, obviously not a food item since Quatre's teeth hadn't been able to penetrate it. Was it metal? An explosive device? Some kind of poison? Whatever it was, it didn't belong in a sandwich.  
  
Alarmed, Wufei said, "Spit it out!"  
  
Quatre ignored him and pulled the rest of the object out with his fingers. "It's some kind of paper," he said, and began to unfold the thin sheets.  
  
Duo, practically hanging over his shoulder, frowned. "Is that a note inside?"  
  
"Yeah," Quatre said, taking a slip of blue-ruled paper out of the wrapping. Wufei saw his pupils constrict and then dilate as he read what was written there.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
Quatre was nearly as pale as Duo's fish. "Trowa's here," he said, staring at the note, "and I think he's gone insane."  
  
#TBC# 


	13. Confrontations

**Title:** Never Turn Your Back on the Sea (13/?)  
**Section Title:** Confrontations  
**Author:** Alleyprowler  
**Pairings:** 3x4, 1xR, 2xH  
**Rating:** R for language

**Summary:** Wufei angsts, Trowa infiltrates, Heero eavesdrops, and Relena gets creeped out. Apologies in advance to any arachnophobes who may be reading.

**Notes:** Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, and double thanks for anyone who has been kind enough to overlook the borked formatting in the first couple of incarnations of this chapter. I think it's fixed now. You guys are are awesome and splendid and lickable. Enjoy!

* * *

The raveled sleeve of care refused to be knit by sleep. The previous evening, Wufei could have sworn he would fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow and stayed that way for the next eight hours, but in spite of the wine Duo had insisted upon at dinner, sleep came only slowly and fled for good a scant few hours later.

It seemed Quatre's bad nerves were contagious. Of course, Wufei couldn't blame him for being jumpy. How else was one supposed to react to the fact one's ex-lover had come halfway across inhabited space and infiltrated what was one of the most secure buildings in the LaGrange point for the sole purpose of leaving cryptic notes in one's lunch? That was not normal behavior, as Quatre had pointed out. Wufei concurred, but that wasn't what kept him up most of the night in a state of low-grade panic, tossing and turning in the unfamiliar bed.

Dawn was beginning to lighten the curtains, and he was still and staring at the ceiling, asking himself the question that had haunted him for most of his life. Did I do the right thing?

He couldn't answer that question, and by the time the artificial dawnlight began to cycle from pearl grey to pink, he'd given up even pretending he was going to get any sleep.

Wufei had an excellent memory under ordinary circumstances, but the events of that day six weeks ago had an almost cinematic clarity to them that he found a little eerie.

He could hear his own voice as he began to tell Yates his rights. He could smell the wrenched blend of chemicals in the tainted soil. He remembered how he had tried to make his breathing as shallow as possible because nothing that smelled that bad could be healthy. He saw the plummy color Yates had turned and felt a twinge of mingled rage and remorse about how he had wished the man dead.

Everything had gone so neatly till then; it was 'a righteous cop', to put it in the current vernacular. And it had been righteous, if not exactly textbook-standard. He'd been well within his rights to restrain and detain both Ervy and Yates. But then the unthinkable had happened and Yates had caught him off-guard, and that's when all hell had broken loose.

"I was supposed to be in charge," Wufei told the ceiling. He rubbed the phantom ache on the right side of his jaw. It had healed weeks ago, but the quality of this memory was so vivid that he felt it throbbing and aching as if the injury had happened yesterday.

He had been in charge till then, but one lucky blow had knocked him down and temporarily removed him from the equation, and that was when his righteous cop...suddenly wasn't exactly righteous. He didn't blame Duo for shouting out a warning or Quatre for firing his gun; those two were incapable of standing idly by in a crisis, which is why he had allowed them to help in the first place. No, the responsibility was his alone. If someone had to take the fall, it was him.

The phone rang, startling him out of his ruminations, and he rolled over to answer it. "What is it?"

A robotic voice rapped out: "Wake-up call, sir. Court proceedings begin in an hour and a half, so please be in the seventh floor conference room by then or risk a fine of up to five hundred credits or five days in prison if you cannot afford the fine. Have a nice day."

"Wait a minute--what?"

"Be in the conference room by oh-nine-thirty. Good day, sir," said the voice, and the receiver went dead.

Wufei threw his arm over his eyes and let out a slow, mournful sigh. Right or wrong, it was time to face the music.

* * *

When Quatre woke, he felt deliciously warm and secure. He hadn't woken up feeling that way in ages, and it took his sleepy brain a few seconds to realize that there was someone in the bed with him, holding him from behind. A warm body, someone comfortable, someone who clung to him securely but not possessively, someone...

Someone who shouldn't have been there.

Quatre practically exploded off the bed, scattering sheets, blankets, pillows and his bedmate to the floor. "What the hell!" he yelled, casting around the dim, unfamiliar room for a lamp, a letter opener, anything that could be used as a weapon.

"Christ, Quatre, that was a rude awakening," a voice complained from the other side of the bed. Moving slowly and clutching his head with one hand, Duo Maxwell rose to his feet.

Quatre took a breath and tried not to crumple to the floor in an undignified heap. "Duo, you have five seconds to explain what you were doing in my bed before I fall over dead from a heart attack."

"You've been so damn jumpy and I hate sleeping alone," Duo said with a shrug. "It seemed like the thing to do. And you can't have a heart attack, the trial is beginning today."

"Fine, I'll take a rain check," Quatre said, and in truth, his heartrate was starting to slow down to a more normal level. He took another breath and looked around for a clock. "What time is it, anyway?"

Duo picked the alarm clock up off the floor and replaced it on the nightstand where it belonged. "It's time to get up. I'm going to head back to my room and shower, why don't you order us some breakfast and coffee? Decaf for you. You're too damn twitchy as it is," he said and stalked off.

He was suddenly glad that he was confined to the seventh floor, and grateful for the armed guards who stood at every possible entrance. What had seemed like a pointless attempt to keep them isolated within the building now seemed to be a perfectly reasonable course of action. No one was let in, and no one was let out without being scrutinized within an inch of their life.

But then again, this was Trowa they were talking about.

The phone rang. Quatre nearly jumped out of his skin. For a moment the shrill bell had sounded like breaking glass and his mind had supplied a brief but vivid image of the window in the lounge area bowing inward and showering shards of glass all over the carpet and furnishings. Then the phone rang again and he realized he was having another attack of twitchiness.

"It's just the phone, you idiot," he muttered to himself, and went to pick it up. "Yes, hello?"

"Wake-up call," said an unpleasant voice in a bored drawl.

"I didn't ask for a wake-up call."

"You get one anyway. I'm also supposed to let you know that court proceedings begin in an hour and a half, so please be in the seventh floor conference room by then or risk a fine of up to five hundred credits or five days in prison if you cannot afford the fine. Have a nice day."

"You have a nice day, too," Quatre said, but the unpleasant person had already hung up and couldn't hear the snarl of sarcasm in his voice. Have a nice day, indeed. It was barely full light outside and already Quatre wanted to crawl back into bed and start over.

But the situation was bigger than him and his personal desires, so he picked up the phone again, ordered breakfast for three, and headed for the bathroom to see if a hot shower could salvage his mood.

* * *

"Hey, new guy!"

The prep cook, who went by 'Tom' and was thoroughly sick of being called 'new guy' instead, looked up from the pile of scallions he had been chopping and attempted to place a pleasant expression on his face. "What is it, Carlos?"

Carlos was redder and sweatier than Tom had ever seen him before, and red and sweaty was the norm in such a hot and busy place as the Judicial Administrative Building's kitchens. He was practically staggering under the weight of a large tray, but Tom didn't think that was the sole reason that the vein running down the center of Carlos's forehead looked like it might actually explode. "It's the goddamn dumbwaiters. The things have worked like magic for the twenty years I've been here and then this morning--boom!--they won't budge!"

Thirty seconds with a screwdriver and a couple of toothpicks had seen to that, but Tom wasn't about to divulge that little tidbit of information. "I'm sorry to hear that. How can I help?"

"You could fix the damn thing," Carlos said, and Tom felt the blood drain from his face. Had he been caught? But he'd been so careful...

"Naw, just joking!" Carlos said with an explosive laugh. "I know you ain't a mechanic. Look, just hoof this order of cross-ants and eggs up to the seventh floor, willya? I'll call Maintenance later on."

Tom took the tray with a nod. "Don't I need security clearance for that particular floor?"

"I gotcha covered in one phone call," Carlos said with a wink. "I'm the kitchen manager, kid. I got more pull around here than old Crothbauer himself!" And he walked off into the steam, laughing loudly.

* * *

There was a light, quick rap on Quatre's door, and he rolled his eyes at his image in the mirror and pulled his toothbrush out of his mouth. It had to be Wufei. Duo was more of a barger than a knocker, and besides, he was probably still busy doing whatever it was he did to his hair. "Come on in, it's unlocked!" he called out.

He rinsed his mouth, dragged a comb through his damp hair and shrugged his way into a fresh shirt. He wondered if the situation called for a necktie. He didn't think so, but had brought a couple, just in case. "Wufei? Do you think I'll need to wear a tie?"

"Probably not," replied a voice that wasn't Wufei's.

Quatre froze in the act of buttoning his shirt. His heart skipped one beat, two beats, and then began to pound against his ribs like a jackhammer. He knew that voice.

With fingers suddenly gone ice-cold, Quatre opened the bathroom door. He took a step into the sitting room without taking his hand off the doorknob, prepared to bolt if things got even remotely weird. His ears had to be playing tricks on him; there was no way the owner of the voice could belong to who he thought it belonged to. _Trowa_?

There was a breakfast cart in the sitting room. The young man attending it was lean and handsome, dressed in crisp chefs whites. His hair was slicked back from his brow and secured under a brimless white cap, and his eyes were partially screened behind a pair of black-framed spectacles. It was a simple disguise, but an effective one, and for a split second the part of Quatre's brain that lived in denial convinced him that the man was a stranger. But then Trowa looked at him and smiled _that_ smile and the illusion was shattered. "Good morning."

Quatre's grip on the doorknob tightened. "How did you...?" Manage to infiltrate the staff, get clearance for this floor, get past the guards...Quatre didn't quite know how to finish the sentence, even if he'd been safely able to. The day before, he, Duo and Wufei had found two microlens cameras in the sitting room, one in the bedroom, and a couple of tiny parabolic microphones hidden in the ornate curlicues of a couple of picture frames. A very circumspect debate over whether or not to disable them had broken out, but in the end Quatre had vetoed it. They could do what they liked in their own suites, but he didn't want to mess with anything in his suite if he didn't have to.

He was now regretting that decision.

"There was an unfortunate mechanical failure with the dumbwaiter system this morning, sir," Trowa said.

Quatre just bet there was. Mindful of the bugs, he mouthed, "I cannot believe you. Do you know how much trouble you could get into if you get caught?"

"I don't care." Trowa's expression went solemn. "I had to get in touch with you, Quatre. I know this is crazy and dangerous, but I had to. Please," he whispered, pulling an envelope out of his pocket, "will you read this?"

He started to take a step toward Quatre, but Quatre held up his hand in a 'halt' gesture. "Put the envelope on the sideboard."

A look of pure hurt flashed across Trowa's face, but he nodded and set the envelope down beside the breakfast dishes. "Will you read it?"

"I'll read it, I promise. You'd better go before the guards get suspicious." And before Wufei and Duo show up, he added to himself.

"Thank you. That means a lot," Trowa said. He smiled a small, sad smile and made a subtle but unmistakable transformation into an anonymous kitchen helper once again. "Enjoy your breakfast, sir," he added out loud, and then he walked away.

* * *

Duo didn't know who looked worse: Quatre, who looked like he might just jump out of his skin if someone made too sudden a move toward the sugar bowl, or Wufei, who was pale and rumpled and looked like he had aged at least fifty years overnight.

Yeah, okay, so maybe this place wasn't the honeymoon suite at the Hilton-Grand, and they were not here on a well-deserved vacation, but it wasn't _that_ bad. The rooms were clean, if dull. They were safely guarded. There was some entertainment to be found. The food was decent and plentiful and virtually free. Yes, there was the whole trial thing, but that was in the future and Duo had practically developed an entire philosophy about not stressing about the future, because you really never knew what was going to happen in the next five seconds, let alone the next five years, and besides, the things you dread the most might be blessings in disguise. They might be monumentally devastating, on the other hand, but that was beside the point. The point was you just cannot know how things are going to come about till they come about, so why worry?

He spread some more blackberry jam on the end of his croissant and took a bite. "Eat up, guys. Don't let all this good food go to waste," he said, motioning toward the breakfast spread on the sideboard.

"I'm not really hungry," Quatre said, and at the same time, Wufei said, "I just want coffee."

Duo swallowed his mouthful. He chased it with a sip of juice and aimed a hard look at Wufei, then at Quatre. "What's wrong with you two? We've got twenty minutes to show up that the conference room and we won't get a chance to eat till God knows when. I am not going to sit in a stuffy little room with you two and listen to your stomachs making those disgusting gurgly sounds all morning because you skipped breakfast. Now either eat or tell me the reason why not."

Duo was gratified when Wufei picked up a croissant and nibbled the end of it, but then he was mystified when, a few seconds later, Wufei spat the masticated pastry into his palm and looked squarely at Quatre. "You take care of the eyes," he said, and rose from his chair.

"Okay." Quatre stuck his forefinger into the pat of butter Duo had been using and rolled it around till the fingerpad was well-coated. He rose and started to move toward the door.

The pastry went dry in Duo's throat. "Uh, guys? If this is some sort of weird sexual ritual, I don't really want to know about it...although Hilde might. Why don't you just sit down and eat and you can write it all down later, okay?"

They did not answer. Wufei went to a slightly faded print of a bowl of fruit and stuck his half-chewed croissant into a feather of scrollwork at the bottom of the frame. Duo looked over his shoulder and saw that Quatre had climbed up on top of a small desk near the door and was running his buttery finger over a section of beading that ran just under the ceiling. Wufei came back to the table, took another bite of croissant, chewed, and spat. Quatre jumped down from the table and re-coated his finger in butterfat.

It suddenly occurred to Duo what they were doing, and he frowned. "Did something happen? Are you guys okay?"

"I'm all right," Quatre said, coming back from the bedroom, where he had presumably been blinding the microlens in the molding with butter.

"I'm exhausted, but I'll live," Wufei said, settling himself back in his chair.

"Trowa was here," Quatre said, apropos of nothing as far as Duo could tell.

"Well, yeah, I saw the note." Duo wondered when Quatre had gotten into the habit of re-stating the blatantly obvious.

"No, I mean he was _here_, in this room. He brought breakfast."

Wufei stopped in the act of bringing a forkful of scrambled eggs to his mouth and glared at his food suspiciously. "He brought this?"

"Relax, Wufei, poison isn't his style," Duo said. Wufei's natural paranoia seemed to increase proportionally to the amount of sleep he had missed, and right now his nerves were probably on red alert. That didn't mean he wasn't acting ridiculously.

"I'm not worried about poison," Wufei snapped, "I'm worried about strangling to death on a love letter."

Even Quatre laughed a little at that. "Don't worry, it's on the sideboard this time."

"How did he get up here? Nobody's allowed on this floor."

"I don't know," Quatre said, mangling his eggs with a fork. "He was wearing chef's whites and black-framed glasses and he had his hair pulled back under a white cap. He had his security badge tucked into a pocket in his tunic so I couldn't see what kind of border it had, but since the guards left him alone, I'd assume he has some kind of clearance for this floor."

"So you're saying he can pretty much come and go as he pleases?" Duo asked. His opinion of the building's security went down several notches.

"I don't think so," Quatre said. "He said something about an 'unfortunate mechanical failure' with the dumbwaiters. Maybe it took him some time to pull it off."

Duo thought that was the richest thing he had heard in a long time. "Oh man, if you want something broken properly, find a mechanical genius. What do you want to bet they won't find the problem till we're long gone?"

Wufei didn't find it quite so amusing. "That's a little unsettling. If you want some time to think, you could switch rooms with one of us," he suggested.

"No. What good would that do? There are only so many rooms on this floor and he can be as patient as anything when it suits him. Besides, it's not like he's out to hurt me or anything."

"What does the note say?" Wufei asked.

Duo glanced at the paper on the sideboard, then at Quatre, who looked slightly uncomfortable. "I'd rather not talk about it now. I'm still processing."

Wufei nodded and set his plate down on the serving cart. "All right, we don't have time anyway. Meet in the conference room in five minutes."

* * *

Heero's workshop was normally locked up tight, which was just fine with Relena. She didn't like to go in there anyway. It was always unpleasantly cold in there even on the hottest days, and she thought the concrete floors, lack of windows, and wire-strewn steel walls were ominous. Everything echoed in there since there were no soft surfaces to absorb sound. The lighting was dim, reduced to isolated pools over whichever piece of equipment Heero was currently working on. Walking into the workshop was like stepping into some futuristic but dilapidated electronic warehouse, only without the rats.

He'd wanted her to be there at eleven-hundred hours, so here she was, three minutes early, standing just inside the thick steel door with a small swarm of things that looked like robotic spiders crawling over her shoes, presumably checking her for contraband.

"H-Heero?" she called out, grimacing with disgust as the traction-pads on the spiders' little feet crept over her ankles. Heero didn't answer.

"Oh, God," she whispered as the creepy little gizmos began to claw their way up her sheer stockings. The sticky little feet weren't sharp, but the cold footprints felt like pinpricks, and poisonous ones, at that. "Heero? Are you there?"

She had left the door open behind her. She could still escape, only her legs wouldn't move save for a faint trembling as the spiders swarmed over her calves and knees. She wanted to brush them away, but her hands seemed to be frozen into tight fists at her sides.

She wasn't afraid of spiders. She knew they held a very important place in the ecosystem. They ate flies and mosquitoes and other insects that might be vectors for disease. Their silk could be processed into paper and textiles. Their venom--when they were venomous, which was rare--was used in medical research and had been instrumental in curing many autoimmune disorders. They were good creatures, beneficial creatures...

And they were crawling up under her skirt.

"Heero!"

Faintly, she heard a toilet flush. A trapezoid of light appeared at the far end of the shop as a door opened. "What's going on?"

She was not panicking. She was not panicking. She was not panick...oh, hell. "Heero, the spiders!"

"Shit!" he said, and then there was a sharp whistle, the kind of whistle a dog trainer might make when he wanted his charges to come to heel.

Hundreds of tiny feet in sets of eight began to make their way downward from Relena's thighs to her calves, to her ankles in a calm exodus. Each one now had a single dim light on its back flashing green, and she watched in amazement as they formed two perfectly straight lines and began to march toward her husband in an orderly fashion.

"I'm sorry, Relena, I should have warned you," Heero said. In the dim light, she could barely see his white shirt as he moved from the bathroom to his work chair. "They are harmless, you know."

"I-I know," she said. She felt a cold trickle of sweat roll down her ribs. "I just wasn't expecting..."

"Spiders? Yeah, they weren't my first choice." Heero switched on a gooseneck lamp near himself and bent over with his elbows on his knees. The closest of the spiders began to crawl over his shoes.

"Your first choice of what?"

"Roaming bug models. I thought cockroaches might be a more universal model, but each time I tried to field test them, they got smashed. Spiders seem to be more...user-friendly." He smiled, and his teeth glowed an eerie purple-white from an ultraviolet light wand on his desk.

Relena sagged with relief as the last of the silvery creepy-crawlies left the toe of her left shoe. "What are they supposed to do?" she asked, crossing her arms across her breast and cupping her elbows in her palms.

"It depends on what the client wants. So far, they can sniff out certain chemical compounds, act as metal-detectors, or be used as listening devices. I'm trying to develop one that can deliver small cargo packets, but so far they aren't very smart at taking direction. They just sit where they're told or move toward the nearest source of infrared radiation."

Heero's hands were now full of tiny flashing green lights. Spiders.

"So that's why you invited me here? To test these...spiderbots?"

"Spiderbots? Spiderbots." Heero ruminated over that for a while. "That's a good term. I like it." He turned aside and deposited his creations into a cardboard box on the table. "No, I didn't invite you here for that. Why don't you take a seat?"

Relena found that her legs, while still a bit shaky, would move under her own will again, and she crossed a bare expanse of concrete to sit down on a lab stool near Heero. "So why did you ask me here?"

Heero smiled. "The picnic lunch is due in about half an hour, but in the meantime, I have something you might be interested in."

Relena hoped it wasn't seduction. Much as she loved him, she didn't fancy being taken in the midst of all these wires and boards and jars and retorts and, well, spyderbots. "What is it?"

He got up and began to rummage around in his strange workplace. "I think I told you about how Trowa asked me to get him a job in the L-2 Judicial Administration building," he said.

"Yes."

"Well, I did, but only on the condition that he took a couple of prototypes with him."

"You mean the spiders?"

"Yeah, the spiders--spiderbots. He helped me paint them so they looked like real spiders. Brown wolf spiders, to be precise. Harmless, useful, and ubiquitous."

"Yes, I know what they are. Go on."

"He smuggled them aboard--don't ask me how--and promised to plant them somewhere where the trial could be observed."

"The trial...Heero, that's a closed trial!"

"Yes," Heero said calmly. He set a black box and a set of headphones down on the table between them. "He succeeded satisfactorily. He put down two spiders in the conference room where Wufei, Quatre and Duo are watching it, and he said that he thought he'd managed to put one down in the Judicial Proceedings chamber itself, but he wasn't sure."

"My God..."

"And if I'm right," Heero pressed on, "the preliminaries should begin in a few minutes."

Relena was appalled. She looked at the box full of green-glowing spiders, then at the one Heero had set between them. Six years' worth of education in both Earth and Colony law flashed through her mind at high speed.

This was wrong. Very wrong. Yet, the only thing she could bring herself to say was, "Do you have another set of headphones?"

* * *

"Do we knock, or do we just go in?" Duo asked.

They were standing in the corridor, facing a door identical to all the other suite doors on the seventh floor, except this one was marked with a 'C' rather than a number. It was logical to assume it was the conference room. At least Quatre thought it was, but he'd had such a down-the-rabbit-hole morning that he wasn't fully trusting of his logic.

"Just knock," Wufei said, leaning wearily against the wall.

"Yeah." Duo raised his hand reluctantly and gave the door three sharp raps. Immediately, the door swung open, revealing a chamber that more closely resembled a private library than any conference room Quatre had ever seen. It also revealed a silver-haired woman with a hawklike face. She wore a navy blue quasimilitary uniform, and a service revolver hung from a leather holster over her left hip. Quatre blinked. It had been ages since he had seen someone carrying an unconcealed weapon. Even law-enforcement agents usually kept their arms concealed since it was currently not fashionable to acknowledge that such things might be necessary. This was after all, the era of pacifism.

"Badges, please" the woman said. A lean brown and black dog appeared at her side, and Quatre had to restrain an impulse offer his hand out for it to sniff. This was not a friendly-looking dog. This dog was trained to be all business; bureaucratic, efficient, ruthless when necessary. It would sooner snatch off his testicles than lick his hand, and since Quatre liked all of his appendages where they were, he simply stood at a safe distance and held out his security badge to the woman.

Duo had picked up the bad dog-vibes as well. He kept his mouth shut, held out his badge for inspection, then went into the conference room without even glancing at the beast. Wufei did the same, although he gave the dog an even wider berth. Wufei was mistrustful of dogs.

Apparently they had all passed some kind of test since the woman closed the door and turned to face them. "Have a seat, gentlemen. Council McInnes will be in shortly." She sat down in a straight-backed chair near the door, and the dog sat near her feet, vigilant and alert.

Quatre looked around the room and saw that the most comfortable-looking chairs had been arranged in an arc facing a floor-to-ceiling bookcase. The books in them might even have been real, but Quatre wasn't interested enough to go check. He was having trouble concentrating on anything save for that morning's encounter with Trowa and the sheer oddity of it all, and the letter...

/I'm so sorry I hurt you, Quatre./

He shoved that thought aside and began to take note of his surroundings. The room was only slightly larger than his own, but it seemed to have the same basic floor plan and color scheme. In between the chairs and the bookcase, there was a cherrywood table with a pitcher of ice water and several glasses on it. On a smaller side table was a coffee machine, currently full, although Wufei was making eyes at it. He wondered if the coffee was as good as the stuff Trowa had brought them earlier.

/I'm sorry that I ran, but I want you to know it wasn't you I was running away from. Never you. If anything, I was trying to run away from myself./

There were two arched windows on the long wall of the room. They looked out over a different section of the colony than Quatre had from his own room, and a decidedly gloomier one. The view was comprised of short, squat industrial type buildings and taller but graceless housing towers. The thin strips of greenery in between the buildings and the roads were ugly, neglected.

/I was scared, Quatre. I can't tell you the number of times I had to leave the room because being close to you made me so scared that I was literally sick from it./

Was there a bathroom in this place? He didn't want to disturb the uniformed woman stationed at the door. The gun and the dog had unnerved him enough already. He saw a door, unmarked, near the table with the coffee pot on it and pushed it open. There was a sink, a mirror, a toilet and a small supply cabinet in there, everything polished to a high gloss and reeking of disinfectant. He pulled the door shut behind him and turned on the cold water tap.

/I'm sorry I was so distant with you. I felt like I had to pull myself away from you emotionally or I would lose control. I thought it would pass over time, but it only got worse, so as soon as you were well enough, I ran like a coward. I don't expect you to forgive me for that. God knows I'll never forgive myself./

There was no way to plug the drain in the sink, so Quatre stuffed a wad of paper towels in the hole and waited for the basin to fill with icy water before he turned it off.

/You were so calm. Even when I knew you were in pain, you were calm and smiling and trying to make the best of things. There were nights when you couldn't sleep, and you never let me know how tired you were, but I knew. I always knew, even though I'd hidden myself away in the guest room./

The water was shockingly cold on his face. He gasped reflexively, sputtered, and splashed himself again. His cuffs were getting wet, but he didn't care. They would dry.

/You never complained. It shamed me that you felt you had to act that way around me, though I don't know if things would have been better if you had. Maybe if you'd complained I would have had something to blame for acting like I did./

The soap was liquid, purple, and smelled of lilac. He didn't care for lilacs, but he washed his face with it anyway. It wasn't so bad. It made his skin feel oddly smooth, as if his face had been laminated with a thin coating of flexible plastic. It felt strange, but not unpleasant.

/It was like you had resigned yourself to fate. I think that's what scared me the most. You didn't seem to care if you lived or died, you were cheerfully accepting either way./

Quatre carefully pulled his makeshift plug from the drain and dried himself on a handful of paper towels. There was a tap at the door. "Yes?"

"If you're done with your bath, Council McInnes is here," said Duo.

Quatre tested his smile in the mirror. It was good enough. "I'll be right out."

/I'm not telling you this to upset you. I just wanted you to know that it wasn't your fault./

"Upset me," Quatre repeated with a quiet laugh. "No, I won't let you. I have a job to do."

He tugged on his cuffs, pulled his collar into shape and opened the door, prepared to play Quatre Raberba Winner to the hilt.

TBC


	14. Conciliation

**Title:** Never Turn Your Back on the Sea (14?)  
**Section Title:** Conciliation  
**Pairings:** 3x4x3  
**Rating:** M  
**Warnings:** Jenn warning  
**Archive:** Gundanium Line

**Summary:** Chapter 14, in which Quatre uses his strange Newt Type abilities to rescue Relena from the underwater lair of the sewer-dwelling mutant zombie ninja pirates...oh, wait, wrong fic.

This chapter is mostly about a trial. There are no lawyer jokes, sorry.

* * *

Council McInnes, solemn, authoritative, and grim, seemed like a fitting representative of the EarthSphere justice system. Had Wufei's mood not already been rather subdued, it would have become that way as soon as the man strode in the door and greeted the three witnesses. As it was, it became downright oppressive. 

Wufei was feeling jittery and a little nauseated by the absurdly strong coffee Duo had dosed him with, and he only listened with half an ear while McInnes greeted them and went over the protocol of a closed trial. He already knew the drill. What went on in that room stayed in that room, and the bailiff (and her dog, presumably) were there to enforce the rules. Wufei glanced at the bailiff, then at the dog . Much like its mistress, it looked athletic, alert, and terribly keen on doing its job.

"However," McInnes said, setting his briefcase down on the low table in front of them and snapping open the clasps, "I have been granted permission to give you these information packets, on the condition that they and their contents never leave this room. At the end of each day, the packets will be handed in to Bailiff Stringer, who will return them to you in the morning. Any discussion of their contents with outsiders will result in immediate confiscation of the packets and revocation of your rights to the recreation area--"

"What?" Duo broke in, but McInnes wasn't listening to him.

"And you will each be fined ten thousand credits. Please understand that this is a very special privilege, and I trust each of you to use it accordingly. Is that clear?"

"We understand," Quatre said. "Thank you, Council."

"Speak for yourself," Duo muttered under his breath, but he accepted the thick folder anyway.

McInnes walked to the floor-to-ceiling bookcase and tipped back one of the leatherbound books, but as Wufei had suspected, the books weren't really books. The spine of the book was actually a lever of some sort that sprang back into place as soon as the council released it. With a quiet purr of hydraulics, the bookcase sank into the floor, revealing a shallow niche containing very expensive media center, complete with one of the new Diamondflex video screens that were reputed to be so sharp that one could count the pores in one's favorite cinema star's nose, if one were so inclined.

McInnes pressed a button on the control array under the screen. The Diamondflex went blue for a moment, then showed an image of a vast, wood-paneled chamber. A red carpet ran down the center of the floor, which was taken up with row seating. Tiers of long wooden tables rose at one end, and a pair of liveried guards stood by the tall, ornate doors at the other. Aside from the guards, there was no one in the chamber.

From speakers set high in the chamber walls, the slow, stately strains of the L2 anthem 'Courage and Vision' started up. Duo grunted patriotically.

McInnes lowered the volume. "The High Court consists of two representatives from each of the L2 colonies, and four from Earth," he informed them. "His Honor William Cabot Crothbauer will be presiding."

The name rang a bell with Wufei. "Crothbauer? Didn't he direct the war criminals tribunal back in ninety-six?"

"He did indeed."

"Then this is a great honor," Quatre said, which seemed to please McInnes.

"Yes, it is," he said, closing his briefcase. "If you have any questions for me, I'll have to ask you to hold them till the noon recess. I'll see you then." He gave them a polite nod and left the room.

The second verse of the L2 anthem started up, rather more loudly than the first one, and on the screen, the liveried guards opened the doors to the chamber. Wufei watched as a long line of men and women in long black robes began to file in, solemn as a funeral procession. He had seen a lot of judges in his time with the Preventers, but never so many in one place, and he wondered if that would make the proceedings go faster than they normally would, or if it would cause them to go on forever. Much as he wanted to see Yates and Ervy nailed to the wall, he wanted to get back to his life even more. Preferably before he reached retirement age.

He waited impatiently as fifty-four black-robed L2 representatives, four blue-robed Earth representatives, and one four-hundred year old gnome in scarlet robes filed into the chamber. The gnome leaned heavily on a pair of canes and took a full minute to cross the chamber. Wufei had never seen anyone so ancient before, and that included Master Long, who had been well into his twelfth decade of life before dying honorably in the Eve War.

"Who's the corpse?" Duo asked.

"Crothbauer, I guess," Quatre said. He had already opened his information packet and was scanning the contents rapidly.

"He's Crothbauer? Jeez, he looks like could kick it any minute."

Just then, though, Crothbauer began to speak, and his voice was as powerful as his body was frail. "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. Today the High Council convenes to try Raleigh Peter Yates of Green Earth Reclaim. Council McInnes, Council Milkiss, and the defendant Raleigh Peter Yates may enter the chamber."

Two doors in the side of the chamber opened. Council McInnes entered from the left, followed by a young woman who was probably his assistant. On the right, the door opened to reveal a thin, nervous-looking woman in a shocking red skirt suit and ridiculously high-heeled shoes.

Behind her, two guards escorted Yates in. He looked very different from the last time Wufei had seen him. His ridiculous Western gear had been replaced with an orange prison coverall, and without his hat, his silvery-grey combover fell in an unkempt straggle over one side of his face. Though he was walking with an exaggerated limp, he held his head high and kept his shoulders thrown back as far as his wrist-and-ankle manacles would allow and seemed to be trying to give an air of unjustly wounded dignity. Wufei didn't think it was fooling anyone.

"Ada Milkiss," Quatre said, reading from a sheet of paper. "Graduated in AC 203, ranked forty-nine in a class of fifty-five. Passed the L2 bar in AC 205 on her third exam...hm."

Wufei ripped open his own packet and shuffled through the papers within. The first stack was basically a _dramatis personae_, listing the players and their credentials. As Quatre had implied, Ada Milkiss didn't look any more professional on paper than she did on the screen. McInnes and his assistant, Miss Dubois, were reassuringly solid, much to his satisfaction.

"Ah, here's my testimony sheet," Duo said, examining another set of papers. He skimmed over the text and frowned. "Hey, what happened to all the adjectives?"

"Quiet, Duo, they're reading the charges," Quatre said.

"...tax evasion, three counts of biohazardous waste dumping, and one count of conspiracy to attempt murder." Crothbauer dropped the charge sheet and raised his eyebrows at the defendant. "My goodness, you certainly have been busy."

Yates's eye twitched, but he said nothing.

Crothbauer set the papers aside and folded his bunched and knotted hands. "Before the festivities begin, I suppose I should ask the council for the defense for the official plea. Miss Milkiss?"

The woman in the red suit shot to her feet. "The defendant pleads not guilty, Your Honor!"

The justices seemed amused by her pronouncement--a few of them actually chuckled. Crothbauer raised one ancient hand for silence and got it immediately. "Not guilty of all charges, Miss Milkiss?" he asked, gazing at her with polite interest. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes, Your Honor. My client was falsely arrested under very doubtful conditions, and none of the charges can be substantiated. He is a victim, and it is a travesty of justice that he is sitting here today, an honorable and innocent man whose reputation has been irrevocably tarnished by an unfair and--"

"Yes, Miss Milkiss, that will do," Crothbauer said. "Please be seated."

"But Your Honor!" Ada Milkiss obviously had a great deal on her mind and wished to speak it urgently.

"Sit."

She sat. He back was straight as a ramrod and she appeared to be biting her lips to keep her righteous outrage at bay, but she managed to maintain her silence. Beside her, Yates was slowly turning purple.

Crothbauer turned his attention to McInnes. "Council, Miss Milkiss has expressed the opinion that Mr. Yates's arrest was somewhat less than lawful, and she does have a few valid points. For instance..." Crothbauer shuffled through his papers, found the correct one, and began to read. "Without prior warning, the premises of Green Earth Reclaim were surrounded by numerous Preventer agents, which expressly contradicts the ESUN edict that no individual or organization shall be the target of a police state, which is defined in Code Twelve, chapter four, paragraph two?"

McInnes stood. "Yes, Your Honor. However, as there were only three Preventer representatives on the premises, I believe this falls short of the definition of a 'police state' by several individuals."

"But there were Preventers all around the perimeter!" Ada Milkiss burst out. "I have names! Benguela, Phipps, Delacroix, Fapworth..."

"None of whom are actually employed by the Preventers," McInnes said coolly. "We ran a check of all of these names, and the only connecting link we could find between them is that they are all the names of--ahem-- adult film stars."

An amused titter sounded through the chamber, and Wufei could feel two pairs of eyes staring at him. "Do not ask questions," he said, keeping his eyes firmly on the screen in front of him.

Duo and Quatre, showing some interest in self-preservation for a change, chose not to comment.

"So, you're saying," Crothbauer asked McInnes, "that only Agent Chang and his two, er, deputies were on the premises?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

"Two _illegal_ deputies!" Ada Milkiss interjected.

Crothbauer gave her a decidedly cool look, but McInnes seemed unruffled. "Actually, Agent Chang was perfectly within his rights to deputize the two civilians. It's been on the books since the Preventers were first formed--any agent needing immediate backup may deputize a civilian, providing that the civilians will not be placed in any unreasonable danger, in order to uphold the peace."

"Yes, I see you've made a note of it here," Crothbauer said, running an ancient fingertip across the report. "Agent Chang and the two deputies employed a ruse involving a voice distortion unit and a two-way radio to make it seem there were more agents on the scene...hm. Unusual."

"Unusual, but not unlawful," McInnes said mildly.

"Very, er, creative. Miss Milkiss, you also seem concerned that your client was not properly informed of his rights."

"Yes, Your Honor. My client has absolutely no recollection of being informed of his rights as a citizen under EarthSphere Unified Nations Penal Codes--"

"Yes, Council, I believe we all know that those rights are. Mr. McInnes?"

"Preventer Chang informs me that he had read those rights to Mr. Yates, Your Honor. Twice, in fact, since he was unable to finish the first time due to the accused's assault on his person."

Council Milkiss was nearly as red as her suit. "The second reading came right after my client was _shot_!"

"Yes, as he was trying to escape," McInnes said.

"Shot," she continued, "by one of the so-called deputies, who was illegally carrying a firearm--"

"Now, now, that will do," Crothbauer said. "We have already established from the trajectory analysis and the ballistics report that Agent Chang did not fire that shot, and neither Winner nor Maxwell were armed."

"Winner had in his possession a twelve millimeter EagleEye autoloader, Preventer-issued, registration number 129905-V to Chang Wufei, recently fired. It had Mr. Winner's fingerprints on the trigger and barrel and the bullets were the same caliber as the one extracted from my client's leg." She slapped the paper she had been reading from on the defendant's table. "What more do you need?"

"Quatre, stop biting your nails," Duo said quietly.

"I'm not biting my nails. I have something in my teeth."

"Yeah, right."

"That would have been very incriminating," McInnes said, "had Winner's pistol actually been loaded and had he been conscious to fire it."

Ada Milkiss put her fist on one hip and glared at McInnes. "Oh, and I suppose that bullet just came out of nowhere, then?"

"Gang warfare in that sector isn't entirely unknown."

"Civilians with guns? Random shootings? Please, I find that very far-fetched."

"Forgive me, Ms. Milkiss, but that's a rather, shall we say, ingenuous attitude."

Crothbauer's gavel came down with a sharp bang. "That will do. I will not have you two squabbling like schoolchildren. Sit down, and we will have a ten-minute recess after the vote."

They sat. Wufei thought he saw a hint of smugness on McInnes's face, but that could have been his imagination.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the High Court, do you agree that Raleigh Peter Yates was lawfully arrested?"

One by one, small green lights from the voting indicators lit up. Some came on at once, some after a few seconds of deliberation, but in the end, the entire panel was unanimous. The bust had been righteous after all, at least in the eyes of those who mattered.

Wufei tried not to faint in relief.

"Very good," Crothbauer said, his face crinkling into countless wrinkles as he smiled. "We will reconvene in ten--no, make that fifteen minutes." The gavel came down again and the Diamondflex screen went dark.

"God, I need more coffee," Duo said, and practically shot out of his chair.

* * *

Deep in the bowels of the Judicial Administration Center, Warder Gil Hammins was awakened from a perfectly pleasant mid-morning nap by the bleating of the override request alarm. 

"Yes, what is it?" he said, toggling on the communications switch with a stockinged toe.

"Prisoner transfer, sir," said a sharp, tinny voice from the small speaker grille on the desk unit. "Serial number eight-stroke-one-niner-five-charlie-echo--"

"Oh, so Coe Ervy has arrived. Override accepted, please bring him in." Hammins punched in the override code and slipped his feet back into his shoes. He considered tucking his shirt in and straightening his tie, but what was the use? The flyboys didn't care, and neither would the prisoner. Midday inspection was two hours away, which gave him another hour and forty-five minutes for another solid nap. No, there was really no point.

He stood and smiled mildly as four heavily-armored guards ushered in a short, bedraggled-looking youth wearing the typical orange coverall and manacles of a maximum-security prisoner. "He's awfully young, isn't he?" Hammins asked, taking in the pale, downcast face behind a web-like tangle of long brown hair.

"Eighteen, sir," said the lead guard. "Here's his file. Where do you want him?"

"Last door on the left, if you don't mind." Hammins trailed behind the guards as he flipped through the file. He'd overseen prisoners this young on occasion, but usually they were violent, foul-mouthed little bastards who fought like the very devil and cursed to wake the dead. This boy seemed quiet, almost reserved.

On the third page of the file, he discovered why. Good Lord, the kid was on enough tranquilizers to sedate an elephant! Not just tranquilizers, but antidepressants, antipsychotics, and a few other drugs with very long names that he suspected were some other types of psychiatric medication.

He hung back as the guards sat the boy down on his bunk and unlocked his shackles. The kid took it all passively, only giving his wrists a quick rub before letting his hands flop down to his sides. "He shouldn't be any trouble, sir," said the lead guard.

"Of course not, with all this in him," Hammins said, pointing to the medication sheet.

The guard merely shrugged--his job was to get the prisoner safely from point A to point B, and whatever weird chemicals they had floating around in their system was of no consequence to him. "We'll see you later, sir."

After they were gone, Hammins loitered by the prisoner's door, staring at him through the small round grille. His own son was only two years younger than this boy. A child.

He was going to be eaten alive.

* * *

This was _so_ gross. 

Duo really wished he hadn't had so much coffee before the break, because the pictures on the Diamondflex screen and the corresponding photos in the information packets were completely unappetizing and the black coffee only made his stomach hurt worse.

He had been glad that the focus of the High Court trial had moved away from the arrest bit. Wild horses couldn't have dragged it out of him, but he'd been worrying about that for quite some time now. It was nice to have it out of the way.

It was not, however, nice to be looking at the photos and listening to the expert witness who was describing them in stomach-churning detail. The current photo was of, if the expert could be believed, a cricket. A cricket with far too few legs and one too many antennae. It also appeared to have an extra eye, but that was probably a tumor or something. Its wings were shriveled little nubbins on its back, and its carapace was a dirty white. It was a mutant.

"We found five of these specimens in a one-kilometer area," the professor, a woman in her thirties with a brisk, no-nonsense air about her was saying. "All of them were damaged in some way. Three years ago, the biology department at the University of St. Francis did a survey of the wildlife in this same one-kilometer area and estimated the cricket population to be at about thirty thousand."

"Crickets don't simply vanish into thin air, I take it," said a dry-voiced justice seated a couple of tiers above Crothbauer.

"They might migrate when they run out of food," said the woman, "and populations fluctuate considerably from year to year, but five individuals in one square kilometer of perfectly fertile land indicates some other source of mortality.

"Speaking of which, if we could move on to the next photo..."

Duo flipped over to the next picture and immediately wished he hadn't. It was horrid. Beside him, Wufei bolted up from his chair and made a beeline to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Well, it was nice when someone shared your sentiments.

"This is a female desert fox, _Vulpes zerda_. The large, batlike ears are normal, but the baldness on the back and muzzle are not. The golfball-sized lumps along her spine are tumors. The oily black substance behind her is not excrement--those were her kits. They were stillborn, obviously. Note her milky eyes and the discoloration of her tongue..."

Duo thought about joining Wufei in the bathroom, but the twinge of nausea passed soon enough. He turned his head to his left and looked at Quatre. "How are you holding up?"

Quatre gave him a rather anemic-looking smile. "I'm all right. You?"

"I'm just glad they did this _before_ lunch, or else I'd probably be wearing it."

Quatre laughed quietly and placed the photos face-down on his lap. It seemed like a wise idea. So far, they had gone through mutant moths, mutant bats, mutant crickets, and now mutant foxes. Duo didn't know how many other types of wildlife there were in the Tunisian desert, but he hoped for his sanity's sake that the professor would make her point soon.

Apparently Ada Milkiss thought so as well. "Professor, I'm sure this is all very interesting, but what does it mean?"

"These mutations are usually caused by heavy-metal contamination, which seemed like an odd thing to happen in an area that doesn't have a very dense human population or a history of manufacturing. We were able to map the area for highest and lowest instances of genetic mutation and narrowed it down to an area you can see on page three of my presentation--" she paused while the robed figured turned to the appropriate page. Quatre did so as well, but Duo didn't feel the need. Wufei wasn't back yet, or he would have too.

"We did soil testing to narrow the area down further, and then we began to dig. Ten meters under the surface of the sand, we found five spent Vernier solid fuel core rods...uncontained."

"Oh my God," Duo said softly, almost reverently.

"Raw fuel rods?" Quatre said, sounding utterly appalled. He scrambled through the papers in his lap until he came up with the map the professor had mentioned. "Buried just two kilometers from the Mediterranean...oh crap."

"...and by analyzing the core rods and what was left of the local wildlife, we have determined that the rods were the cause of the contamination."

"And this pertains to my client...how?" Ada Milkiss asked with saccharine sweetness.

"I'm glad you brought that up. Vernier fuel rods come stamped with a serial number," said the professor. She went to the defendant's table and pointed to a diagram in front of the council. "Here, here, and here. Unfortunately, the stamps had all been carefully removed."

"Proving nothing."

"Hardly. They also come with unique radioisotope signatures integrated in the core. These are unremovable. They are also unreadable unless one has a G-2 Geiger-Newcastle isosignograph." She gave Yates a puzzled look. "Most salvage and reclaim dealers who handle this sort of thing have one. I wonder why GER didn't."

Yates went red, then purple, then back to red. It clashed horribly with his orange jumpsuit. Ada Milkiss tried to pull him back from the microphone, but everyone could still hear his protest: "I don't deal in that toxic crap. There's no percentage. The government pays _shit_ for that."

Duo snorted. It was true that the ESUN Environmental Safety Ministry did little more than cover the cost of containment and disposal of such highly dangerous matter, but there was a little something called 'moral responsibility'; a concept that seemed to have escaped Raleigh Yates entirely.

"I don't like where this is going," Quatre said in a low voice.

"You and me both," Duo agreed.

"According to union records, these rods were purchased by Green Earth Reclaim in April of 204 from Five Point Salvage, and there is no record of them after that. They were never reported destroyed. They simply disappeared until they turned up buried under the Tunisian desert nearly a year later. This is all highly unusual, especially since the government pays a bounty to any service, on or off Earth, that wishes to take responsibility of this sort of thing and dispose of it properly. There are also penalties for failing to record transactions of any type. Buying, selling, trading...anything."

"You still can't trace those fuel rods back to my client," Milkiss said.

"Nor can they be traced back to anyone else," McInnes said.

"This is highly unusual, as I said," the professor reiterated, shuffling through some more papers. "We wouldn't have thought too much about it if our North American agents hadn't come across a similar case in Nova Scotia. If you would all kindly open the packets marked fifteen-B, there are some more things of interest there."

Against his better judgment, Duo did so. He was relieved to see that the packet did not contain images from a madman's nightmare, only maps with amoeba-like shapes drawn in varying shades of red. The irregular but concentric lines were purple, crimson, pink, and near-white, and were concentrated in one area. "Elevation maps?" he guessed.

"Statistical maps," Quatre said.

Duo unfolded the paper and skimmed over the legend at the bottom to see what the maps were recording.

Stillbirths. Spontaneous abortions. Birth defects. Cancers of the pancreas, liver, and throat. "Horrible," he whispered, not trusting his full voice.

"Yeah," Quatre said.

Wufei finally came back from the bathroom, looking damp along the hairline and very pale, but calm. He slipped into his chair but made no move to gather his packet. "If I missed anything important, I don't really want to know about it right now," he said.

"I think the worst part is over," said Quatre. "That little display at the beginning was just to illustrate a point, and the rest of this is just statistics."

"I hope you're right, Quat," Duo said.

As it turned out, he was. The professor pointed out that the fuel rods in the second location were in the same condition as the ones in Tunisia, and according to the core signatures, the paper trail on them dead-ended with the sale to Green Earth Reclaim.

Ada Milkiss seemed to be having a tough time of it. Yates kept whispering in her ear furiously and she kept whispering back, patting his meaty forearm in an attempt to reassure him, but whatever she was saying wasn't doing its job. Duo, who had lost interest in the professor, leaned forward in his seat to get a better view of the two of them. He had the feeling something very interesting was going to happen.

Crothbauer's gavel came down. "Thank you, Professor Englewood. Your testimony has been most enlightening. We will now adjourn for our midday break and reconvene in two hours. Have a pleasant lunch, ladies and gentlemen."

The venerable Justice began to rise from his chair, but before he had gathered his walking sticks, the heavy oaken defense table was pushed over with a resounding crash. Duo jumped in his seat at the unexpected noise. He heard Wufei take in a sharp breath as the images on the screen caromed left and right, up and down before settling on the red and sweating face of Raleigh Yates.

"I DON'T FUCKING THINK SO!" Yates roared. His long, sparse grey hair bristled around his head in an uneven corona.

"Raleigh, please," Ada Milkiss said, clutching her briefcase to her chest like a shield. Her eyes were huge and frightened behind her glasses.

He paid no mind to her. Clanking in his chains, he strode up to the seated Crothbauer until he was nearly nose-to-nose with him. "I bought that shit," he snarled into Crothbauer's ancient face. "I bought those fucking Vernier fuel cores as part of some other cargo--I didn't know they were there!

"That's as may be," Crothbauer said calmly, "but you still bought them."

"But you can't _prove_ I dumped them!"

"_Proving_ is not my job," said Crothbauer, folding his knotted hands over his stomach and leaning back comfortably in his chair. "I merely hear evidence and judge based on it."

"I suppose you think I dumped them?"

"That, or you've rid yourself of them in some other mysterious, yet legal, way."

Yates was breathing through his nose so hard that his nostrils flared on each exhalation. Wufei was reminded forcibly of the one time he had seen a rutting bull thwarted from his goal by a younger and more virile male, and he could almost predict what happened next.

Yates jabbed his right hand out toward Crothbauer, his large knuckles nearly the same size as the venerable justice's windpipe, but the blow was deflected by some invisible yet powerful deterrent shield mere millimeters from the old man's skin. White sparks flew, and Yates howled in pain and clutched his hand to his chest.

"Raleigh, I told you--"

"You're fired, Ada!" Yates shouted.

Council Milkiss looked shocked for a moment, but she rallied quickly. "You can't fire me, I quit! You're a liar and a cad and I wouldn't represent you if you were the last criminal in the EarthSphere!" She stomped off.

"Criminal?" Yates shouted after her. "You bitch, you were supposed to--hey, what is it with you guys?"

Two liveried guards took hold of Raleigh Yates and wrestled him away from the chamber. Crothbauer watched the scene with an expression of mild interest. Behind him, the other justices began to gather their papers and file out of the chamber from exits hidden behind the curtains.

Crothbauer looked directly into the camera, smiled, and brought his gavel down again. "Well, this has been most interesting, hasn't it? We will reconvene in two hours. I do hope you have a nice lunch."

The screen went dark.

* * *

They did not have a pleasant lunch. None of the three witnesses had much of an appetite after the professor's testimony, and Yates's little display had disturbed and embarrassed them. 

"Can he really do that?" Duo asked, stirring his soup. "Just fire his representative with no warning?"

Wufei wasn't even pretending to eat. He'd thrown himself down on one of the long leather sofas in the recreation lounge and lay there with his arm over his eyes, shading them from the low light. "Technically, she is his employee," he pointed out.

"That's true, I suppose," Duo said. "It just seems like such a massively stupid thing to do."

Quatre let out a dry bark of laughter. "I think we've already established that Raleigh Yates isn't the brightest bulb on the chandelier."

"Yeah, I suppose so. So what will the justices do now, appoint him a new council?"

"They will have to offer him one, of course," Wufei said, cracking one eye open, "but I doubt he'll accept. Knowing what I know of him, he will probably insist on representing himself."

"And you know what they say about people who act as their own council," Quatre said.

"What do they say?"

"That they have a fool for a client."

* * *

"Oh dear God, he's going to lose it again," Duo said. 

Wufei sat up straight in his seat. His mind had wandered off again. He looked around guiltily, but Duo and Quatre had their eyes glued to the Diamondflex and were paying him no attention at all.

"Five million credits!" Quatre exclaimed. "I wonder where his accountant learned how to hide that much?"

"Some penitentiary, I'll bet," Duo said. "I've heard you can get quite an education in those places if you know where to look."

"You're probably right."

Wufei didn't want to appear inattentive, but he needed to ask: "What's going on?"

"The finance expert--I forgot his name--just uncovered the missing millions," Duo said.

"His name is Buckett, and he's very good. I'll bet he could give Heero some competition," Quatre said staring raptly at the screen.

"What missing millions?" Wufei asked.

"The millions that the former Mrs. Yates claims Mr. Yates has been hiding from her," Quatre said.

"Oh, the alimony."

"He's going to blow," Duo said. "See that vein in his forehead? I give him five."

"Four," said Quatre.

"Three."

"Two."

"One."

Yates blew up quite spectacularly. It took three guards to wrestle him away from the defendant's table, his arms and legs were flailing so violently. A steady stream of curses issued from his slobbering mouth as he fought and twisted, mad with rage. Duo began to take notes. "Stumpy puppyfucker--I'll have to remember that one," he murmured quietly to himself.

Privately, Wufei thought that 'sperm-gurgling gutterslut' was better, but he held his tongue. He had his standards, after all.

Quatre stood up from his chair and gathered his papers. "I think I've had enough drama for one day. I'll see you at dinner."

"See ya, Quat," Duo said, scribbling madly.

* * *

The hot shower washed away most of Quatre's nervous tension, but he still had a headache from the stiff muscles in his neck and shoulders. What a day! Although he had done nothing but sit around and stare at a video screen, he felt wrung out and exhausted--and this was only the first of what looked like a long stretch of similar days. 

He wiped condensation from the bathroom mirror and stared at his reflection, pleased to see that he didn't look nearly as old as he felt. Raking his hands through his damp hair, he faked a bracing smile. "That wasn't so bad, now, was it?" he asked himself. _It damn well was_, he replied mentally, and the expression soured. He had never been very good at lying, even to himself.

He pulled a loose nightshirt over his head and opened the bathroom door, shivering a bit as the cool air of the bedroom hit his skin. The Colony dusk had fallen while he had been in the shower, and the suite was dark. Scuffing his feet, he made his way towards the bed and felt around for the bedside lamp. He nearly knocked it over before he found it and turned on the switch.

He had planned on crawling under the covers and reading a novel until he got tired enough to sleep. The plan changed drastically when he discovered that Trowa was sitting at the foot of the bed.

At first Quatre thought it was a hallucination. He'd been under enough stress lately that it wasn't too much of a stretch to believe he was just _imagining_ Trowa sitting there with his back bowed and his elbows resting on his knees. Just imagination. But then Trowa looked up, gave him a minute smile, and said: "Hello."

Not his imagination, then. His imagination would never conjure up anything this bizarre, no matter how fatigued he was. "Trowa? How...?"

Trowa's smile widened a bit, but his eyes were sad. "It's not really important," he said.

"The surveillance..."

"Has been taken care of."

Quatre passed a hand over his own eyes. "Of course it has."

Trowa patted the bedspread. "Sit down," he said, "please?"

Quatre sat, but not on the bed. He pulled up one of the club chairs and sat down in that instead while he waited for Trowa to speak.

Silence spun out, long and awkward. It was strange, he thought. They had always been able to communicate so easily, if not in words, then in touch, or a glance. Now they were sitting across from one another like a pair of statues, unable to look at each other, silent and still. There might as well have been a brick wall between them.

"This isn't easy," Trowa said at last. His voice was thick.

"No."

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I know."

"I'm so sorry."

"So you said."

"God." Trowa whispered the word in a succinct prayer.

"Trowa, why are you here?"

Trowa buried his head in his hands.

Quatre said nothing. He wished he could have, but he could not find the words. He hadn't meant to make it seem like he was accusing Trowa--Trowa, who had been putting himself in danger trying to apologize. Who was, even now, risking his freedom just so he could be there to talk in person. Quatre' s shock slowly melted away, only to be replaced by a storm of emotion. Grief, guilt, and anguish that tore at his gut like a sickness, and somehow he couldn't tell if they were his own feelings, feelings he was projecting onto Trowa, or both. All he knew was, it hurt.

Seeing him sitting there in that defeated posture, so sad and repentant, made Quatre want to break down. This wasn't the Trowa who had behaved so coldly toward him when he'd been ill, this was the real Trowa. _His_ Trowa. The one who liked to tinker with his motorbike on his off afternoons, who liked long, hot baths after a hard day, who made ridiculously huge breakfasts on Sunday mornings and brought them up to bed, who was so wonderful to wake up to in the morning with his lazy smile and the scent of his bedwarm skin...the feeling of being loved. The feeling of being home.

He got up shakily and closed the distance between them. "Trowa?"

Trowa looked up. Moisture glimmered along his lower eyelids. Though his lips were parted, he seemed to be unable to speak.

Quatre took another few steps until he was standing between Trowa's knees, and he gently pulled him forward till Trowa's forehead was resting against his own chest. "It's okay," he whispered, running tentative fingertips through Trowa's hair.

"No, it's not," Trowa replied, which was true. His arms went loosely around Quatre's waist anyway. He was trembling.

Quatre opened his mouth to protest, to say something inane and soothing, but a dry laugh came out instead. "You're right. It's not."

"I screwed up," Trowa whispered. "I ruined the only good thing I have ever had, and now I don't know what to do."

"Trowa..." Quatre began, but then he closed his mouth. Sometimes words just didn't do the job. He rocked his body gently from side to side, still stroking Trowa's hair. Warm dampness was beginning to spread through his shirt, but he didn't care. Tears had never fazed him.

He realized that he didn't feel angry, or resentful, or even hurt anymore. The little knot of angry pain that he'd been carrying around in his heart seemed to have melted away, and he simply felt tired and a little sad. "Maybe it isn't okay now," he murmured, "but things change. Life has a way of going on."

Trowa sighed, sounding infinitely weary. "Does it?"

"Of course it does," Quatre said, slowly stroking Trowa's head, his neck, his shoulders. He knew Trowa's body almost as well as he knew his own, and his hands went automatically to the areas where Trowa tended to store up stress. He began to knead the tense muscles gently. Some of his own lingering tension drained away as Trowa slowly relaxed, his head growing heavy against Quatre's chest.

"This feels good," Trowa murmured a minute later, meaning more than the massage.

"Yes, it does."

"I should go," Trowa said, though he made no move to do so.

"Stay," Quatre said without thinking. He cupped one hand against the back of Trowa's neck. "Please?"

The loose embrace around Quatre's waist tightened a bit. "I will stay," Trowa said, shifting slightly to kiss Quatre over his heart, "as long as you want me to."

And he did.

* * *

The dumbwaiters had been repaired. Wufei felt infinitely grateful for that; it meant he could eat his breakfast in peace rather than jumping at shadows that might or might not contain crazed ex-terrorists. 

But then, there was Duo. Duo, who had barely sat down before getting back up again and going to Quatre. With an expression of intense concentration, Duo took Quatre's face in his hands, turned it from side to side, felt his forehead, and pulled down his lower lids to look into his eyes. "Dude, are you _glowing_?"

If Quatre was startled by this bizarre treatment, he didn't show it. He just smiled and nodded and sipped his coffee as if having his head molested by Duo Maxwell was something that happened every morning.

"When did this happen?" Duo demanded.

"Shortly after dinner...and again around midnight, and early this morning."

Duo let out a low whistle. "That must've been one hell of an apology."

Quatre smiled and looked more relaxed and serene than he had any right to be given that they had another full day of watching the High Court judges pick apart testimonies word by word ahead of them. It was quite annoying.

"Would anyone mind telling me what's going on?" Wufei enquired.

Duo turned on him with a grin that was more mischievous than friendly. "Trowa and Quatre made up. A lot."

Wufei's coffee went down the wrong way.

"Breathe, Wufei, breathe!" Duo said, clapping him enthusiastically on the back.

Quatre fetched a glass of water which, after much choking and hacking, he was able to take a few sips to clear his throat. "Where is he?" he rasped out as soon as he could take a breath without coughing.

"Are you okay?" Quatre asked.

"I'm fine. You can stop assaulting me, Maxwell. Where is Trowa? And for the love of mercy, don't tell me he's still in the bedroom."

Quatre shook his head. "He's not in the bedroom. He might not even be in the building by now. I finally convinced him that it wasn't safe for him to be here, so he said he was going to go back to Heero and Relena's for a while..." Quatre paused and frowned. "He also said something about not killing any spiders."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Duo asked.

"I don't know. He just said it was important that if we saw any spiders in the conference room, we should leave them alone." Quatre shrugged, apparently unconcerned, and began to spread jam on his toast.

"Speaking of," Duo said, glancing at his wristwatch, "aren't we supposed to be there in a few minutes?"

He was right. They had time to bolt the remainder of their breakfasts and have a quick wash before they gathered outside the conference room door, each of them slightly breathless. "We ready?" Duo asked. The other two nodded, and he knocked on the door.

Same dog. Different bailiff. This one was a young, plump fellow with a friendly face who smiled at them as he passed them their information packets. Even the dog seemed friendlier, and it gave their hands a casual sniff as they passed it by. Quatre even went so far as to pat it on the head and call it a good boy, an action that made Duo want to tackle him to the ground and enquire at the top of his lungs about Quatre's mental state, but the dog seemed to take it well enough.

"You three will have to work the video screen yourselves this morning," said the bailiff. "Council McInnes has been in meetings for three hours now and can't get away, but he sends his regards."

Quatre scratched the dog's ears. "Is there a problem?"

"Nothing to worry about," said the bailiff. "There's been a bit of commotion over Yates's outburst, that's all. Take your seats, I'm sure you won't have too much of a wait."

The dog's heavy, blocky head was now resting against Quatre's knee and it was gazing up at him with adoring eyes. Quatre gave it a few more pats before going off in the direction of the viewing area, and Duo swore the dog heaved a lovelorn sigh.

"Sorry, pup, but Quatre's a one-man kind of guy, you know?" Duo told it.

The dog gave him a reproachful kind of look and turned its back on him. Duo merely shrugged and went to the viewing area. Life was rough and love was complicated, but how could you explain that to a dog?

Fortunately, the Diamondflex screen was much less complicated than a dog's psychology, and Wufei had already managed to set it up.

"The show must go on, I suppose," Duo said, falling into his seat.

"As if nothing else will," Wufei said.

This time whoever was running the show didn't bother playing the L2 anthem, for which Duo was grateful. There was only so much pomp and circumstance he could stand, and he spent most of his yearly quota at Hellcat home games.

The justices filed in and took their seats quickly. The venerable Crothbauer hobbled in last, as usual, but he hobbled with energy and purpose. There was a general air of rush and bustle in the courtroom that hadn't been there the day before--even the guards seemed to be crackling with energy, and all they were doing was standing by the doors looking ceremonious.

Crothbauer's gavel banged down almost as soon as his venerable behind hit the seat. "Council McInnes and Mr. Raleigh Yates may enter the chamber," he said.

McInnes and his young assistant strode in briskly, looking sharp and fresh in spite of what must have been a grueling night. They nodded respectfully at the justices (some of whom looked rather sleep-deprived) before seating themselves.

The gavel banged again. "If the guards would be so kind as to escort Mr. Yates in."

Yates looked even more pissed off than he had the day before, and that was saying something. He clearly did not appreciate being held by the elbows by two guards as he entered the chambers, and he nearly seethed when one of them secured his wrist restraints to a steel eyebolt screwed into the defendant's table. Duo was almost certain the bolt hadn't been there before.

Crothbauer didn't look any happier than Yates did. "Raleigh Peter Yates, you have decided to do away with outside legal council and have chosen to represent yourself. For the record, is this true?"

Yates tried to stand as he answered, but the best he could manage with the manacles bolted down was a kind of hunchbacked crouch. "For the record, Your Honor, it's true."

"You need not stand. I also read here that you wish to change your pleas in exchange for a consideration of expediency."

Quatre made a very weird noise. It sounded like he'd tried to clear his throat and yodel while simultaneously choking on a ham sandwich.

"Um...bless you?"

"Consideration of expediency? He's got to be joking!" Wufei said in a tone somewhere between amused and deeply confused.

"What's consideration of expediency?" Duo asked.

"A ploy to get the trial moving along as fast as possible," Quatre said. "It means he'll plead not guilty to everything he thinks he can get away with, and if he can get a two-thirds majority to agree, then those charges will be dropped completely."

"That kind of sucks," Duo said. He was actually thinking of it in much stronger terms, but this did not seem like the kind of place to flaunt the full extent of his vocabulary.

"If the majority do not agree," Wufei continued, "then he will receive the maximum penalty for that particular charge with no chance for reduced sentence. It's the same as a guilty plea."

"Only without admittance of extenuating circumstances," Quatre picked up. "No new evidence will be allowed, no retrials will be granted. The arguments are over."

Duo suddenly understood how Quatre had made that weird noise because he was on the verge of making it himself. "That's got to be the stupidest gamble I've ever seen anyone take, and I play poker with Heero. What _isn't_ he guilty of?"

"My guess is he's going to try to get out of the conspiracy to attempt murder charge," said Wufei. "Everything covered yesterday was a six-month maximum sentence."

"But they haven't even argued that one yet," Duo said.

"Oh...that's right," said Quatre. "Do you know how that works, Wufei?"

"They simply shelve it until--or unless--the defendant serves his time. In this case, that will be a maximum of three years, which is...shit!" Wufei suddenly sat up ramrod-straight in his seat.

"Wufei, what is it?"

Wufei had turned a very unhealthy color. "Three years...he's _hoping_ for three years!"

"Wait, wait," Duo said, feeling his tenuous grasp on the matter slipping away. "Do you mean he's trying to get himself sent to prison?"

"Yes, but only for three years. That's the statute of limitations of a conspiracy charge. By the time he got out, that charge will be null and void."

"No, Wufei, it's seven years for attempted murder...isn't it?" Quatre sounded heartbreakingly uncertain.

"Normally it's seven, but if the defendant represents himself, it's only three. It was changed during the war crimes tribunal...Crothbauer himself pushed it though, as I recall."

Duo's stomach felt like it had suddenly exchanged places with his bladder. "So, to recap," he said, "Yates is using an obscure wartime law to place himself in a nice low-security prison for tax evaders so he can dodge a fucking murder rap."

"That's a fair summary," Wufei said.

"And you're certain it's all nice and legal?"

Wufei nodded. "And I'll bet they knew it from the start."

There was a moment of shocked silence before Duo said, "We've been had."

* * *

From above, the people on the front steps of the Judicial Administration Building looked like iron filings, and Yates was the magnet. Every reporter from every publication in the L-2 cluster, as well as several from Earth, had their camera aimed toward the downcast figure in the orange coveralls, and the cries for attention were fairly deafening. 

It all died down to a nearly miraculous hush, though, when Yates paused on the third step and cast his eyes toward the largest camera nearby. "My fellow citizens," he said, and then paused to give the other cameras, boom mikes, hovermedia, and visorscreens time to focus on his haggard face.

"My fellow citizens," he repeated in a louder voice, "indeed, my friends--I stand before you an accused man. I have been rightly and justly convicted of the sins of tax evasion and fraud in an attempt to enrich myself."

Yates paused then and looked toward what might have been the heavens if he had been standing on Earth. "It was a vain attempt, and a sad one," he continued, gazing hubward and allowing moisture to gather at the edges of his eyes. "I will, of course, repay my debt to society, as society deems it. I am grateful, however. Grateful!" He blinked, and two tears ran down his cheeks. "I am grateful for this chance to meditate on what it means to be an honorable man, to amend for my sins, and to become a more spiritual person in order that I may--"

The sound was insignificant. It might have been the sound of a champagne cork popping from a distance, but not even the most enthusiastic champagne cork could have made half of Yates's head atomize in a pink mist of blood, bone and brain tissue.

He fell down dead before he had even completed his final lie.

TBC


	15. Administration

**Title:** Never Turn Your Back on the Sea (15/17)  
**Section Title:** Administration  
**Pairings:** 3x4x3  
**Rating:** M  
**Warnings:** Language

* * *

Heero didn't believe in precognition. He believed in observation, pattern recognition and, maybe in a pinch, he believed in intuitive leaps of logic, but he didn't believe in precognition.

That didn't stop him from silently berating himself that he hadn't seen it coming.

The videofeed from the Judicial Administration Building on L-2 was live. There was no two-second delay as there usually was when a potentially violent bit of footage was being displayed, mainly because no one expected any violence. Why should they? Raleigh Yates's crimes, while heinous, hadn't been particularly violent. His detractors, though vocal, were not prone to violence. The Colony was a peaceful one. Firearms regulations were strictly enforced--this was the administrative hub of the L-2 cluster, after all.

No one had expected to see the man's head get blown off. Not even Heero.

On the screen, panic and chaos erupted. Journalists scattered like cockroaches suddenly exposed to light. Remote-controlled cameras zoomed in on the carnage while human camera operators dived to safety. Guards drew sidearms and aimed them wildly at the crowd, causing a feedback loop of terror.

The screen went dark. Heero turned to his left and saw Relena standing there with the remote control in her hand. She looked pale in the light of the half-opened blinds. "I'm sorry you had to see that," he said.

Sounding more composed than her blank-eyed stare indicated, she asked, "How could that happen?"

That wasn't the question Heero had expected from her. "Why do people kill each other? You know the answer to that as well as I do."

She shook her head, keeping her eyes on the dark screen. "That isn't what I meant. How could he have smuggled a gun onto an administrative colony?"

Heero didn't like where her train of thought was going. "I don't know who you're talking about. No one who didn't work there could have had a gun."

"You know very well who I am talking about, and he did work there."

"Relena, he was there as a cook. Cooks are not ordinarily allowed to have firearms."

"Ordinarily." She turned away from the screen and looked him full in the face. Her eyes were clouded with emotion. "We are not talking about an ordinary person, Heero."

"We're not talking about someone who kills anymore, either."

"Is something wrong?"

Heero turned toward the new voice and was surprised to see Trowa standing in the doorway looking a little travel-weary and rumpled, but hardly murderous. His duffel bag was slung over one shoulder and he was still wearing his jacket; evidently he had just come in from the shuttleport.

"Trowa!" Relena said with a little hitch in her voice. She ran to him and took his hands in hers as if assuring herself that he was real. "Oh thank God."

Trowa smiled. "It's nice to see you, too." His eyes met Heero's, and his smile faded. "I can't help feeling I walked in on something, though. Am I interrupting you?"

Without a word, Heero picked up the discarded remote control and turned the news back on. The live feed had switched back to the studio talking heads, but the story was the same. Already, the shooter had picked up the nickname Unknown Assassin, capitals included.

"Well," Trowa said dryly, folding his arms over his chest, "I don't normally speak ill of the dead, but in this case I have to say good riddance."

"Who do you suppose would do that?" Relena asked him.

Trowa gave her an oddly fraternal smile, and once again Heero wished he knew what the hell had gone on between his old war friend and his wife the last time Trowa had been around. If he didn't trust her so implicitly...but that thought wasn't very productive. "Plenty of people have been hurt by Yates, you know. It wasn't just limited to us."

"That's true," she said. "His ex-wife, for example, and his employees, and all those people in Tunisia and Nova Scotia who got sick..."

Trowa raised his eyebrows. "You know about them? I wasn't aware they had released the transcripts of the trial yet."

Relena looked slightly guilty. "They haven't. Those spiderbots you planted were quite effective."

"They actually worked?"

"You don't need to sound so surprised," Heero said.

Trowa cleared his throat and picked up the duffel bag he had dropped when Relena greeted him. "If you don't mind, I'd like to go up to my room. It's been a long trip and I'm tired."

"Of course you are," Relena said smoothly, taking his elbow and ushering him out of the room. "And maybe after you've rested and washed up I can show you Opal's puppies."

Trowa looked interested. "Opal? She's the border collie who kept herding the ducklings in the pond, right? I didn't realize she was pregnant."

"Oh yes, and her dam and sire were such wonderfully friendly, intelligent dogs, I'm sure her pups will be amazing, if not purebred. If you'd like one..." Relena's voice trailed away as she led Trowa toward the stairs.

Heero flung himself down in an armchair and switched the television on, savagely pressing the channel button until the screen showed something not even remotely related to news.

* * *

Wufei was pacing again.

Quatre really wished he would stop doing that. It was making his own legs ache just watching Wufei go into Preventers mode as he marched from one corner of the recreation lounge to another, endlessly, relentlessly.

At the other end of the room, Duo was coping with the isolation problem by reading every single publication he could find in the recreation area, including the magazines which seemed to be devoted to celebrities, Bigfoot, aliens, and improbable combinations thereof. In Quatre's lighter moments, he suspected Duo was beginning to believe some of it.

Boredom did strange things to people.

"What time is it?" Wufei asked, stopping suddenly.

"We've got an hour and fifteen minutes to go," Quatre said after glancing at his watch. He didn't need to be more specific since their days had begun to revolve around the one hour they were allowed to use the phones and computers for limited purposes. McInnes had looked slightly bewildered when he had informed them of their new privilege, and Quatre felt a little bewildered himself since it had been granted the very day after Yates's assassination. However, it wouldn't do to look a gift horse in the mouth. He took advantage of the hour just as Wufei and Duo did, with no questions asked.

Since communications were restricted to business matters and were very closely monitored, Quatre had not risked contacting Trowa...at least, not directly. He contacted only Rashid who, since he was nominally Quatre's boss, would be beyond suspicion. He also trusted that Rashid was subtle enough to read between the lines and sympathetic enough to relay the carefully chosen words of reconciliation, apology and hope that peppered his speech.

"A dolphin communications expert has just translated a message from the Lake Champlain monster. She says it just wants love and peace for all mankind and more salmon," Duo read.

"A sentiment I'm sure we can all agree on," Wufei muttered, pacing more furiously than before.

Quatre glanced away and concentrated on his own form of coping, which involved a tangle of rings, horseshoe-shapes and squiggles of wrought iron knotted together into a puzzle that he suspected was designed to drive the solvee into performing an act of physical violence to get the pieces separated. He twisted and tugged on the piece that looked the loosest to him, but it was firmly hung up and refused to budge. He took a slow, deep breath and set the puzzle aside. "Has Director Une replied to your request yet, Wufei?"

"No," Wufei said shortly.

"Really? It's been three days."

"_Only_ three days," Wufei said. "It's not like I asked her for an afternoon off to visit the dentist."

"Rising singing sensation Mellie Mercredi is losing six kilos per week on a diet of red cabbage and hard boiled eggs," Duo informed them, still immersed in his tabloid. "'I am a shadow of my former self,' says the sylphlike but flatulent diva, who can only be photographed from a distance."

Wufei made a face. "I think I'd rather have the extra weight."

The puzzle rested at Quatre's elbow, taunting him. He made a valiant attempt to ignore it. "But hasn't Une said anything? Isn't she at least thinking about it?"

"I'm sure she's thinking about it, but it was hard enough to get me here in the first place. It would be very awkward for her to pull me out before the trial is over."

"But we don't even know when that will be," Quatre said, leaning away from the tangled piece of ironmongery. It seemed to be exerting some kind of unholy magnetic grip on him.

"I know that!" Wufei said. "I'm just as aware of the time slipping by as you are, Winner."

Quatre felt his cheeks grow warm with anger. "Don't snap at me, Wufei. You're not the only one under pressure here, you know."

Wufei spun to face him, hands fisted on his hips. "Oh, and I suppose your livelihood is on the line too?"

That was unfair. "Your so-called livelihood was never on the line and you know it. You just can't stand the waiting, can you? That's your problem, Wufei, you don't have any patience."

"I have plenty of patience, and how dare you insinuate--"

"Do you guys want to know what the top ten signs that your girlfriend is an alien are?" Duo asked loudly.

"NO!"

"Then quit bickering." Duo gave each of them a long, dark look before turning back to his magazine.

He was right, of course. Quatre felt an apology rise to his lips, but he suppressed it, knowing that it would sound empty and meaningless while their feelings were still running high.

Wufei began to pace again. Quatre picked up his puzzle and twisted a curly part around and around a rod. Duo raised an eyebrow over a particularly outrageous article. "I had no idea President Neilson could fit into his granddaughter's school uniform. Although," he tilted the page and squinted at the grainy black-and-white image, "those baggy socks might not look half bad if he shaved his legs."

"Maybe he's been on Mellie Mercredi's diet," Wufei remarked.

At least they were back to normal, Quatre thought. He set his puzzle aside after giving it one last savage jerk and stood up. Maybe he needed to be alone for a while. He could go back to his suite, have a hot shower and order a glass of wine, maybe take a nap...

As he reached for the doorknob, though, the door suddenly swung open and he caught himself just before he ran into Council McInnes. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said, taking a step backward.

"Mr. Winner," McInnes said, nodding in acknowledgement. He was dressed as impeccably as ever, but the suit seemed to be hanging on him a little loosely, as if he hadn't been eating well the last few days. His granite grey eyes were bloodshot, Quatre noticed, and his shoulders were somewhat slumped. He looked exhausted.

"Won't you come in, Council?" he asked, holding the door open wide. "We've been looking forward to seeing you."

"Thank you." McInnes looked around the recreation lounge before entering, and Quatre was acutely aware of the mess the three of them had made of it. The floor was littered with scraps of paper, dollops of food and bits of discarded exercise equipment, there were stains on the upholstery, and plates and mugs and cloudy-looking glasses covered most of the surface area.

Quatre decided to ignore it. He walked a few step ahead of the council and looked at Wufei, who was slouched against the pool table, then at Duo, who was frowning over the tabloid, and said to the room at large, "Council McInnes is here."

Duo discreetly folded his paper and stashed it behind his chair. "Council, good to see you," he said.

McInnes nodded at him and took a seat in the chair Quatre had just abandoned. Quatre went to stand next to Wufei at the pool table and watched as the council set his briefcase down on the low table between his and Duo's chairs. Judging by the way the man hefted it, it was fairly heavy.

"I owe you all an apology," McInnes said, glancing at each of them in turn. "This has gone on far longer than we expected."

"If this is about Yates," Wufei said, "I can assure you we understand. That was quite a shock."

"Yes, it has been. Especially for Mr. Ervy." McInnes unlocked his briefcase and took out a folder so thick he had to press the cover down to keep it from flying open. "He's had a...setback."

"A setback," Duo repeated in a flat voice. Quatre glanced at him and saw that his eyes were glued to the folder with narrow intensity. "This setback wouldn't happen to include wetting the bed and hysterical fits around men, would it?"

"He's had a psychological setback," McInnes said as if he hadn't heard. "It's been severe enough to require a re-evaluation--"

"Oh no," Quatre said, pushing himself away from that table, but his reaction was overshadowed by Wufei's furious snarl and Duo's outraged howl.

"What do you mean, a 're-evaluation'? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that the psychological evaluators have interviewed him once again," McInnes said, handing Duo a sheaf of papers, "and they are awaiting the medical team. You're all perfectly welcome to review the initial results."

Quatre wasted no time in moving behind Duo's chair to read the report over his shoulder, and Wufei wasn't far behind him. It wasn't by chance that the first words Quatre picked up from the summary were 'nocturnal enuresis' and 'androphobia'. He glanced down at the long list of medications Blue was taking and was not surprised to find that he didn't know what most of them were for. There were some common ones prescribed for major depression and anxiety, but the others...

"This is the same old shit," Duo said angrily, crumpling the papers in his hands.

"Duo, let me see that," Quatre said, making a grab for the sheaf. Instead of handing it to him, Duo wadded it into a ball and tossed it over his shoulder. The papers hit Quatre in the face and bounced off, but he grabbed the wad before it hit the floor. He began to smooth them out and read while Duo paced back and forth in front of the table.

"Exactly," Council McInnes said. Quatre glanced up at him and saw that he was remaining in his seat, one leg crossed over the other, his hands folded loosely on his knee. If he was intimidated by Duo's outburst, he was either ignoring it or was too exhausted to react to it. "He has been given the same drug regimen since this started and now he is behaving abnormally..."

Quatre drowned out the Council's voice and began to read the report for himself, barely noticing as Wufei settled down beside him.

* * *

"This is completely ridiculous."

Warder Gil Hammins could not have agreed more. He tried not to look at his charge, who was shackled hand and foot with a pillowcase over his head. Looking at the boy might have brought Hammins's carefully-hidden hysterics to the surface, and he needed to keep his cool for this. "It won't be for very long, Nina. A week, ten days at the most."

The head warder for the women's detention facility was a solid-looking woman with gimlet eyes and the disposition of a rattlesnake. She could sense fear and weakness on a person, and by the way she was staring at Coe Ervy's hooded, quivering form, Hammins could tell the boy was in for it.

"I'm not putting him anywhere near my girls," she said with undisguised contempt. "They're annoyed enough as it is. If they thought one of the boys was getting preferential treatment..."

"I think keeping him separated would be for the best," Hammins said, feeling slightly relieved. The change of venue for his prisoner had not relieved him of responsibility for him, after all, and he honestly didn't want any harm to come to the boy. He just wanted the damn /weirdness/ to stop. He was running a jail, not a sanitarium.

Warder Nina Hemba narrowed her eyes at him. "Anything special I should know about him? He looks a little skittish."

"Rubber sheets," Hammins said, "and don't forget his medication." He handed her a plastic bag which fairly rattled with pill bottles, which she took with a grimace of distaste.

"All right, Gil, I'll take him, but I'm only doing it as a personal favor, not because I think it's a good idea."

"Duly noted," Hammins said, diplomatically refraining from telling her she didn't have a lot of choice in the matter. He pushed Ervy forward a step and let Nina take his elbow. "Be a good boy now."

"Yes, sir," Ervy's muffled voice came from beneath the pillowcase, which Hammins snatched from his head and tucked under his arm. Ervy did not protest as he went down the long, grey hall of Women's Detention, and as Warder Hemba led him around the corner, Hammins sighed in sheer relief.

* * *

"The long and short of the matter," McInnes said at last, "is that nobody wants custody of him."

Duo unfolded his hands and leaned back in his chair. "Yeah, I can see that," he said, glaring at the report spread across the coffee table. "Too crazy to stay locked up here and not crazy enough for the hospital...so where is he now?"

Council McInnes gave a very slight cough, which Duo was fairly sure intended to cover up a smile. "He's still here. He's been transferred to Women's Detention."

Wufei let out a bark of laughter, but Quatre looked concerned. "Is that safe, Council?"

"Safe as can be," McInnes assured him. "Women's Detention is no more nor less secure than the men's facility, it's just a bit less crowded and quieter there. We agreed it would be best for all parties if he stayed there till his trial could begin."

"And when will that be?" Wufei asked.

McInnes spread his hand apologetically. "I'm afraid I can't answer that, Agent Chang. It could be next week, or it could be next month. I assure you, we're doing everything we can to speed this along."

Wufei said nothing, but pushed himself away from the pool table and stalked to the window, turning his back on them. Duo could tell from the rigid set of his shoulders that Wufei was righteously pissed off. He could relate.

"Right, let's narrow the parameters a little," Quatre said briskly. "When is Ervy due to be re-evaluated?"

"Monday morning."

"That's five days from now. Why so long?"

"We would like to have the original evaluation team do the workup and that's the earliest time they can see him. Mr. Winner," McInnes said, and Duo watched with interest as Quatre flinched slightly, "you have to realize that this is not exactly a high-priority case. Mr. Ervy was a minor at the time of the attempted crime--"

"The _attempted_ crime?"

"Yes. Conspiracy to commit murder was the crime he was charged with, and you are obviously alive and sound. Therefore, the charge is in question pending further--"

Duo couldn't take any more. The betrayal of trust, the fear and worry, the tedious waiting, the isolation, everything he had dealt with over the last six weeks came to a head and he shouted, "Fuck this!"

McInnes and Quatre jumped a little and stared at him. Even Wufei turned around. Duo didn't care. He was livid.

"I let that kid into my home, I trusted him! And then he goes behind my back to try to undermine my business--hurts one of my best friends--lies and cheats and--Goddammit! Are you saying he might walk free? What the hell is wrong with this picture, folks? Tell me!"

Utter silence reigned for a moment. Duo, breathing rapidly and feeling like his heart might just burst out of his chest, glanced at Wufei, then at Quatre, then at McInnes.

"Tell me," he said.

"That's what he was charged with," McInnes said. He stared at Duo as if trying to wear him down with his gaze, but Duo was beyond that. He was not about to be cowed by a mere stare, and if McInnes moved one muscle toward him, he would gladly have gutted the good Council with his bare hands.

Then Quatre gave a little gasp, and Duo's eyes flicked toward him. "What?" he demanded, but Quatre wasn't paying much attention to him.

"Conspiracy to commit murder was _all_ he was charged with?" Quatre asked quietly.

"That was the official complaint," McInnes said, turning his intense gaze toward Quatre.

"Yes, and he damn near did kill you!" Duo shouted, but neither McInnes nor Quatre looked his way. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Wufei move, but Wufei wasn't looking at him either. He was looking at the report, and he was smiling. "Are you all nuts?" he wondered aloud.

Quatre looked at him, and he was smiling as well. He winked, then looked back at McInnes. "We would like to drop the conspiracy charge."

"Very well," McInnes said, to Duo's open-mouthed surprise. "I'll see you gentlemen tomorrow."

TBC


	16. Assassination

**Title:** Never Turn Your Back on the Sea  
**Section Title:** Assassination  
**Pairings:** Overall: 3x4x3, 2xH, 1xR  
**Rating**: T  
**Warnings:** Language, violence

* * *

Duo turned toward Quatre very slowly, smiling in a manner that was less a show of good humor than a display of very sharp, very white teeth. "Quatre," he said with false calm, "do you know what I'd like right now?" 

"No, what?" Quatre said, looking a touch wary. Wufei didn't blame him. Duo seemed to have grown an awful lot of teeth in a very short time.

"I'd like you explain why you want to drop the conspiracy to commit murder charge against Blue." He took a step forward and slung an arm around Quatre's neck in a manner that might have been comradely had it not been so tight. "And I'd really, _really_ like it if you made the reason a good one."

Quatre coughed and tried to move Duo's forearm away from his trachea, but Duo only seemed to tighten his grip, judging by the way his muscles sprang into sharper relief.

Wufei decided to intervene before things got messy. "Duo, while I can somewhat appreciate your sentiments, I think it would be better if you stopped trying to throttle Quatre until he has a chance to explain himself."

Duo looked thoughtful. "Hm, I guess you're right. There aren't many places to hide a body around here." He released Quatre, who made a nasty gagging noise before he staggered, coughing, to the nearest chair.

"There was no point," he rasped out, clutching his throat.

Wufei took a bottle of water from the mini-fridge. "He conspired with Raleigh Yates to commit a murder. Specifically, _your_ murder. His prints were on the cases. His image and voice were on your recording. He all but fell down on his knees and confessed outright. Why, exactly, is there no point?" he asked, slamming the bottle down on the arm of Quatre's chair.

"It's not that easy to pin a conspiracy charge on a minor, Wufei, especially since his intended victim is walking upright and drawing breath." Quatre coughed and drank some water. "More-or-less."

"He's not a minor," Duo said sullenly. "The age of majority in the L2 cluster is eighteen."

"He's a war orphan. He has no birth record. He's basing his age on a physician's best guess of it, but he could be six months older or six months younger than he really is. It's possible he could have been seventeen at the time of the crime."

Duo had to know that since he himself was a war orphan, but he still looked surprised to hear it. "Seventeen, eighteen, what's the difference? _He still did it_!"

"It's the sentencing you're worried about isn't it? You're afraid he'll be tried as a minor," Wufei said, beginning to see the point. "Also, Ervy has put an awful lot of effort into his crazy act."

Duo looked disgusted. "Yeah, the little creep even had _me_ going for a while."

"Yes, and I have a feeling he's still doing it," Quatre said. "There's bound to be some doubt over whether or not he's fully in control of his faculties. If you throw the question of age into the mix, this might turn out far messier than we bargained for. Besides," he said, slumping his shoulders a bit, "what we did to him to make him confess to us was a little..._questionable_."

That was true. Wufei flexed the fingers of his right hand, remembering the shock that had run through his arm when he had connected that fist to Blue's face. He hadn't exactly meant to do it, but it had been deeply satisfying all the same.

And while Duo had berated and intimidated Ervy that day and Quatre had committed outright psychological terrorism, Wufei had physically harmed him, a practice which was generally frowned upon by the Preventers.

Damn.

"It would probably be better for us if that entire incident was not brought before the justices," Quatre said quietly.

Duo leaned against a bookcase, looking thoughtful. "Yeah. That wasn't exactly one of my proudest moments, and that's saying something."

"Nor mine, which is another reason I thought we should drop the charge."

"So what do we do now?" Wufei asked. "We've just declared him innocent, so do we just let him walk free?"

"Innocent?" Quatre echoed, giving him an odd look and an even odder smile. It was almost _sinister, _which was not a look he Wufei associated with the blond. "Who said he was innocent?"

Duo shoved himself away from the bookcase and dropped into the chair across from Quatre's. "Okay, maybe you'd better tell us what you've got up your sleeve before I get all offended that you didn't ask us about this earlier and decide to strangle you again."

Quatre took the death threat in stride. "Innocence is a relative term. Everyone's guilty of _something_."

"Such as?"

"I don't know, exactly, but McInnes is authorized to subpoena Blue's bank statements, tax records, employment history and so on. And if he can't find anything...well, I'll supply you with the wire to garrote me."

"That confident, huh?" Duo said, thinking it over. "Fine, then. Let's just hope McInnes is half the sneaky, underhanded bastard Blue is."

* * *

"It's cold in here," Trowa said, wrapping his hands around his coffee mug. It was only his second cup of the morning and he didn't feel quite awake enough to fully appreciate the complexities of Heero's workshop, but the High Judicial Court of L2 didn't take into account one's caffeine intake--nor the time difference-- when they decided to convene. 

"You'll live," Heero said. He tossed a long white lab coat in Trowa's direction and then began to play around with the spiderbot receiver. Odd transmissions came from the small speakers--space hiss, mostly, with occasional mechanical noises and snatches of conversation.

"Something wrong?" Trowa asked as he shoved himself into the lab coat..

"The problem with hijacking signals is that they don't stay hijacked for long," Heero said, poking a few buttons and turning a knob. "Once I can lock onto it I can compensate for the drift, but till then... Damn, I can't hear. I'm going to try the other one." He pressed a rocker switch, waited for a count of five, and flipped it back. "Shit!"

"What, is it broken?"

"No. Did you hear what happened when I tried to switch it over?"

"I didn't hear anything."

"Exactly. No hiss, no static. Someone else is using it."

"It's probably just broken. Maybe somebody stepped on it."

"There are thirty-eight remotes that send out pings every three seconds. Unless it was utterly destroyed--incinerated, pounded to dust--I would have received a signal."

Trowa looked at Heero's profile, which was as tense and stern as a profile could be. He had a feeling this was a little worse than just losing a spiderbot.

As if Heero could read his thoughts, he said, "I've been violating three or four of the strictest privacy laws in the EarthSphere legal codes. Potentially, I could be sitting in the cell next to Ervy's by next week if I was caught."

What little warmth Trowa had been able to glean from the coffee and the lab coat drained away. "Are you serious?"

"Very."

Though it hadn't been his idea, Trowa felt that it was somehow his fault. He was the one who had been so dead-set on infiltrating the High Court, after all, and he had agreed without argument when Heero had asked him to take the little mechanical spiders with him. He was just as culpable as Heero was. "Look, let's shut this down right now, and maybe there's some way you can cover your tracks. I can still go back in and retrieve the other one if you think it'll help."

Heero shook his head. "Thank you, but that won't be necessary." He flipped the rocker switch again and began to tune for the good spiderbot. "On the off chance we get caught, we'll deal with it. I happen to be on intimate terms with a very good lawyer. And besides," he said with a wicked smile, "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

* * *

It took two days to arrange the retrial of Coe Ervy. 

No one had expected that several of the justices would be dead-set against the decision--except McInnes, of course. Not to worry, he said over and over as he sat with an increasingly tense Wufei, Duo and Quatre, keeping them updated on his progress, they would come around.

And come around they did, but not before Duo had taken to giving Quatre's neck a hungry, speculating kind of look every time they were in the same room together, as if he was considering what gauge of wire might be best for using on it. Quatre was getting rather twitchy.

It was therefore an occasion for celebration when McInnes announced the trial would be beginning the next day. "We'll be charging him with identity theft, fraud, and aiding and abetting a known criminal," McInnes said.

"That's great," Duo said, shifting restlessly in his chair, "but that doesn't make Blue any older or any saner. What's stopping him from using the same old tricks?"

A faint gleam shone in McInnes's eyes. "The Council, in their wisdom, have deemed that anyone who has the presence of mind to deliberately put themselves in the employ of a corrupt business for the purposes of assuming another's identity, then they are certainly old enough and sane enough to be tried without leniency."

"You mean," Duo said with a rising grin, "that's Blue is going to the Big House."

"There will be no reformatories or psychiatric rehabilitation for Mr. Ervy, if that's what you mean."

Duo and Quatre exchanged a look of triumph and relief, respectively, but Wufei still looked unhappy.

"How long a sentence will he get?" Wufei asked.

"It's up to the Justices, of course, but I would think eight years minimum. Mr. Ervy has quite a history."

"Eight years."

"Most likely more," McInnes said, but Wufei wasn't in the mood to listen. He merely gave the council a long, flat stare before stalking off to the windows.

McInnes, unruffled, stood up and began to collect his papers. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, I have some work to do. Please contact me if you have any questions or concerns."

Duo and Quatre saw him to the door, and when he had gone, Duo turned to his companion with a broad smile. "I'm so glad I don't have to kill you, Quatre. Now, let's get this party started!"

* * *

After making a list of things to order from the kitchen and commissary, Duo left to take a quick shower and a nap. Quatre stayed behind. He had been feeling uneasy ever since Wufei had turned away from the discussion. It seemed plausible enough that Wufei was simply fed up with the sequesterment and wanted to get on with things--plausible, but not quite right. 

"Wufei, what's really wrong?" he asked, padding toward the window.

Wufei had been standing there for a good long time now. He couldn't possibly have been admiring the view, which was uninspiring at best. The window looked out into a little public square with a tiny park in the middle of it, the main feature of which was a concrete fountain with a large, ugly fish spitting a spray of water into the drizzly air. "Nothing's wrong. I just want to get out of here."

Quatre sat down on the windowsill. "I know. We all want to go home."

"Home? I don't have a home. I have a Preventers-subsidized apartment with Preventers-subsidized furniture and a closet full of Preventers-issued uniforms. It's not a home."

Quatre could see his point. He had been to Wufei's place once or twice and really had no wish to return since it was stark to the point of being depressing. "If you're not happy living on the base, why don't you move out?"

"Because I oh-so-wisely tied up most of my income in an early retirement contract." Wufei sighed, turned around, and sat next to Quatre with his back to the window. "I thought this would be a career, but a short one. If I sacrificed forty percent of my income, let the Preventers invest it, I could retire at the age of forty-five. Full pay and full benefits for the rest of my life. All I had to do was keep my head down and dodge the odd bullet here and there."

"And so far you've done well," Quatre said.

"Insofar as I'm able to stand upright and take nourishment, I suppose you're right. I could live this way indefinitely. I have a little over six hundred credits of discretionary income per month, which is what some poorer individuals manage to live on in a year."

Remembering the cheap and unlovely towerblocks he had been asked to provide heating and light for, Quatre nodded. "Yes, that's true. It's a shame."

"The real shame, though, is that I'm not making any difference."

Quatre was surprised to hear that. He had been under the impression that Wufei liked his job and was proud to serve. "I'm not sure I'm following you."

"Of course you're not following me. I'm barely following myself." Wufei stood up and began to pace. "All I'm really sure of is that I want to quit the Preventers."

"Wufei..." Quatre said slowly, not knowing how Wufei was going to take it, "have you really thought about this?"

"I've thought of very little else since I got here," Wufei said.

"Okay, so you must realize you've got an excellent job, and you've done it so well that you could wallpaper your apartment with the commendations you've received. You've just seemed so perfectly in your element that I have to admit I'm a little shocked you'd throw it all away."

"Two weeks ago, I would have agreed with you completely, and if you'd suggested I quit my job, I would have thought you were out of your mind." He stopped pacing in mid-stride and shook his head. "Maybe I am."

"We both know you're not. There must be a reason."

"There is, and it's this," Wufei said, spreading his arms wide to take in...what, exactly? The recreation room? The seventh floor? The entirety of populated space?

"I don't get it."

Wufei looked frustrated enough to spit, but he pulled himself in with an effort. "The High Court. I've never seen the legal system from this side before. You have to understand that for all the gadgets and resources and red tape, my job is fairly simple: Find the bad guys and turn them over to the proper authorities for punishment. I never really gave too much thought about what went on after I did my job. I've been called to court as a witness half a dozen times of so, but even then I assumed that it was nothing more than a formality, just another hoop to jump through before the criminal got what was coming to him."

"Oh." The light was starting to dawn. "It's not really that simple, Wufei."

"I've spent the last couple of weeks getting that fact shoved into my face. I've heard all the stories about corrupt judges and crooked lawyers before, and I thought they were fiction. But now that I can see what happens during a so-called _fair_ trial-- it makes me sick. What difference does it make how many gunrunners, assassins and drug cartels I bust if they're just going to be let loose on some damn technicality?" Wufei threw himself into a chair and cradled his forehead in his hands.

Quatre went to him. "I know you feel frustrated right now, but won't you reconsider? Just because the legal system isn't perfect doesn't mean what you do is meaningless."

"It might as well be. I just wish someone had told me before I wasted ten fucking years of my life doing it."

"Wufei! How can you say that?" Quatre said, although he was beginning to get more than a little frustrated on his friend's behalf.

"I'm naive, I know that. I've been chasing my tail all this time. I figured I was at least making a small dent in the problem, but I might as well have spent my time shooting fleas in a doghouse."

"But you must have done something to deserve all the recognition you've got. You're only twenty-six years old and you're one of the top agents in one of the top peacekeeping organizations in the EarthSphere. There has to be some reason for that."

Wufei gave him a cold look. "I'm good at what I do. I realize that. But there are thousands of others who are just as good as me and have ended up on the wrong side of a bullet...or who have eaten their own gun."

Quatre couldn't think of any reply to that. He was too shocked to speak, let alone think up a coherent response.

"Don't look at me like that," Wufei said, somewhat more kindly, "I'm not going to run out and kill myself."

"All right, if it wasn't a threat, then why did you bring it up?" Quatre said.

"Because I think I know why they do it. They wake up one day after fifteen, twenty, thirty years' service and see the kidnapper or the dope man they thought they'd put away walking down the street just as free as you please, and they wonder why they bother.

"I don't want to end up like that, Quatre. I was always aware that my life might be short, but I reasoned that having a short, meaningful life was better than growing old with nothing to show for it than a few old battle scars."

Quatre was beginning to see past his own shock--and his anger at letting himself be shocked. He didn't think Wufei was consciously trying to manipulate him. That wasn't his style. Wufei was the most emotionally honest person he knew, in fact. If he said he was feeling useless and depressed over his job, chances were he actually was feeling useless and depressed and wasn't playing it up for sympathy.

"All right, Wufei, consider your point made. I-I kind of know what you're going through, actually."

Wufei gave him a long, searching look, the kind of look that Quatre thought of as his lie-detector mode. "Oh? Do tell."

Quatre felt his face heating up; it had been one hell of a difficult part of his life, and he didn't like to talk about it. He preferred to think of himself as a sensible person. "I was nineteen. I was deep into the whole heir-to-the-legacy thing...I guess you remember that."

"Yes. You were insufferable."

"I suppose I was," Quatre said with an embarrassed chuckle. "It was a lot of pressure, that's all I have to say in my defense. Pressure I didn't want and didn't ask for. I was going crazy. I was stuck in a job that I was temperamentally unsuited for--managing all those resource satellites, trying to pretend I was interested in hydroponics, vat-cloning, the Ganymede ice tug routes..."

"Yes, very boring. Your point?"

"That _was_ the point. I was bored. I was also exhausted, because keeping track of all the minutiae requires an almost constant input of data and since I didn't dare miss anything, I barely got any rest. But then Heero showed up one day, said he'd been keeping tabs on me..." Quatre's cheeks, which had just begun to cool down, began to grow warm again.

"Yes, he tends to do that," Wufei said.

"Yes, much as it makes me want to smack him sometimes, I do love him for it," Quatre said, smiling ruefully. "We sat down--he sat me down, actually--and we talked, and he managed to get me to tell him everything. Even the things I didn't want him to hear. I had...well, he calls it a breakdown, but I think it was more of a temper tantrum. Lots of things got broken."

An irreplaceable pre-Colony clock, a very large picture window, and a bone in Quatre's wrist were just a few of the things that had been broken. The tangible things, anyway.

"And we sat there in the debris...and finally Heero said to me, 'Are you telling me that you're running this entire empire--and driving yourself crazy--strictly by virtue of having a _penis_?' Then he laughed at me.

"I was still pretty worked up, so tried to punch him. He dodged it. Then he said, 'Why don't you just quit?' and I tried to punch him again. He hurt my hand. I yelled and said some terrible things, then he wrestled me down and sat on me. He's a lot heavier than he looks," Quatre said, smiling at Wufei.

Wufei did not smile back.

"I yelled at him some more," Quatre continued on after a pause, "and he reminded me--forecefully--that I had several sisters who were intelligent, competent, and dedicated, and that I might appreciate their input on the matter."

Wufei grunted at him to go on.

"So...so I did. I called a meeting. I was honest for once and said I didn't want to run the entire company. I wasn't interested in how the colonies got food and water and minerals and so on, just as long as they did. And you know what?"

"What," Wufei said flatly.

"I found that my sisters were perfectly capable of handling the damn thing themselves. The business side, the technical side, the PR side...everything. In fact, the ten most legally-minded of them formed a corporation right then and demoted me to the rebuilding section, which I subsequently turned over to Rashid and the Maguanac. Under my sisters' approval, of course." Quatre smiled. "Then, after I finished my graduate work, I got myself hired on and I haven't looked back."

Wufei did not look uplifted by this story. He didn't look bored by it, exactly, but he wasn't gripped, or enthralled, or even curious. He looked very tired to Quatre; tired and sad. "That's good for you. I'm glad you're happy."

Quatre licked his lips, not sure how to put it so that Wufei wouldn't get angry or offended. He sat down on the windowsill and made a move to pat Wufei reassuringly on the arm, but thought better of it and pulled away at the last moment. "The point I was trying to make is that it's okay to say 'I don't want this, I want something else.'"

"I don't have anything else."

"Yes you do!" Screw the protocol; Quatre gripped Wufei's arm and tried to squeeze some sense into him. "You're skilled, you're talented, you're intelligent, you have contacts. You could have whatever job you want. Don't waste yourself on something you don't want to do."

At last, Wufei looked engaged, if not excited. "So, for instance, _you_ would hire me?"

"In a heartbeat."

The furrows on Wufei's brow smoothed out as he gave Quatre that lie-detector look again. "You would, huh?"

"Of course. It's hard work, you know, but it's rewarding knowing that you're providing people with homes and places to work and schools and such."

A corner of Wufei's lip twitched up for a moment. It wasn't quite a smile, but it was a hell of a lot better than a frown. "Spare me the speech on the joys of civic duty. I've had about enough of that."

Quatre grinned. "Okay, then want to talk about benefits packages?"

Wufei rolled his eyes hubward and sighed. "Save the sales pitch for later. Right now all I want is to get out of here and into a hot bath before you two begin your debaucheries." He stood, stretched, and made to leave, but before he went through the door he shot a thoughtful look over his shoulder. "Thank you. I'll consider it."

* * *

It was a different Blue who sat at the defense table that morning. No longer the brash, grinning young buck of Sweepers III nor the broken, fragile prisoner, he sat with quiet dignity. Perhaps he was tired of acting. More likely, he was simply resigned to his fate. Whatever it was, Quatre almost felt himself become sympathetic toward him. 

"Blue seems to be holding up well," he murmured quietly.

"Blue is something of a bullshit artist," Duo said.

Wufei sniffed softly. "And you're not?"

"I'm _honest_ about my bullshit, fella."

"Right. There's a world of difference there."

"Stop it, please," said Quatre, who was feeling too tired to listen to a fight. "I want to listen."

McInnes had conjured up a graphologist from somewhere, a little man in a bow tie who was lecturing enthusiastically about ballooning ascenders or some such. On the big visual display, two identical fragments of someone's signature stood side-by-side for the presumed benefit of the observers. At least, they looked identical to Quatre. The bow-tie man seemed to think differently.

"Oh yes," he said in response to a question from one of the justices, "the left one is clearly a forgery. Do you see how the pen strokes are all evenly pressured here, but not here? This one was done very slowly and carefully, not at all how one would dash off one's own signature. And in this next image--"

Duo jumped in his seat as if he had just been bitten by a horsefly. "Hey!"

"What's wrong?" Wufei asked him.

"That was _my_ signature!"

Quatre quickly glanced back at the screen, but the graphologist had already gone on to another image. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!" Duo said. "Does Raleigh Peter Yates have two Ls in it?" He stood up and began to pace. "Jesus!"

"I don't see why you're so surprised," Wufei said, hiking up the volume a few notches. "Ervy worked for you for quite some time, didn't he?"

"Yeah, about a year, but--"

"He didn't just wake up one morning and think 'Oh, I'll start stealing from this Maxwell guy, he seems about as sharp as a sack of doorknobs'. That isn't how it works. With his level of involvement, he's most likely been doing this kind of thing for years. And he's been getting away with it."

Duo gave him a very black look, but he stopped pacing.

"Look at him," Wufei said, gesturing toward the Diamondflex. The camera had momentarily passed over the defense table, where Blue sat looking pale and rather dazed. "This is the first time he's ever been caught. Even so, he spent a lot of time in denial about it. Only now, it's finally gotten through to him that his luck's finally run out. He's not calm, he's in shock."

"That's not very comforting, Wufei."

On the screen, the bow-tie man had given way to a tall woman who looked like a banker, or a revenue agent. Someone who worked with money and took it very seriously, anyway. Quatre attempted to listen to her opening statement, but what Wufei was saying was far more interesting and his attention wavered.

"Some people are born manipulators," he was telling Duo, "and he's one of them. He's probably never worked an honest day in his life. He's clever, makes friends easily, probably has a thousand stories about himself--"

Duo snorted. "Yeah, and all of them make him out to be the innocent little lamb in a big, bad, corrupt world."

"Exactly. He told you what you wanted to hear. If you had a shitty childhood, his was absolutely abysmal. If you had trouble with the system, he had it ten times worse. If you were struggling, he was in abject poverty. Do you see what I'm getting at?"

"Yeah," Duo said sulkily, "you're saying I'm a goddamned idiot."

Wufei shook his head vehemently. "No, what I'm saying is that you--and Hilde--like to think the best of people. Ervy picked up on that and played you for it. With Yates, he probably tried a different tactic. Maybe he tried the eager-to-please move on him, or the tough but smart young protege act."

Quatre remembered how Blue had leaped up with every appearance of delight when they had first met in person: _"You're...you're not dead!" _And then had immediately gone into victim mode as soon as he realized he might be in trouble. "He played me, too," he said in a quiet voice. "I guess that makes us both idiots."

"He exploited you both," Wufei said to him, sounding irritated. "He took advantage of Duo's generosity and your desire to protect, but that hardly makes you idiots. Can't you see what he's doing?"

"What he's doing is getting majorly fucking audited," Duo said. He was looking at the screen again, which was showing a display of Blue's tax records for the past three years.

That caught Quatre's attention, and he focused on the tax form which was now in the center of the display. The statement of income and taxes owed were both highlighted. Quatre did a quick mental calculation and concluded that it had been filled out properly.

"As you can see," the banker-or-revenue-agent said, clicking over to the next image, "this does not mesh at all with Mr. Ervy's banking records, not with his credit report."

Quatre blinked. The banker-or-revenue-agent was making an understatement...by at least three decimal places. "Wow. That's quite the discrepancy," he said with awe.

"How did he _do_ that?" Duo asked.

"I'm sure you and Yates weren't the only ones he was exploiting." Wufei stood up and drew his hand over his eyes. "How many more? We may never know. If you'll excuse me..." He began to walk to the door.

"Don't you want to see the rest of this?" Quatre asked.

Wufei shook his head. "I've seen enough."

* * *

The trial lasted only an hour and a half into the afternoon session. Much of that was taken up, quite unnecessarily in Quatre's opinion, with Blue's council filibustering on the topic of youthful exuberance and how tender young minds should be nurtured, not punished and things of that nature. Duo kept bursting into snickering fits. 

In the end, though, cold fact won over sentiment. After a brief conference, the justices submitted their verdicts to Crothbauer, who rose from his seat to deliver the sentence.

"I must say, young man," he began, addressing Blue, "that your opposition has shown remarkable restraint in their complaints against you."

Blue nodded silently, staring down at his hands.

"I am old, Mr. Ervy, and they say that in one's old age, the social veneer that one has cultivated since childhood begins to crumble, revealing the raw personality beneath. You must excuse me, therefore, if I take great pleasure in handing down the full penalty of law: Six charges of grand larceny, carrying a total of six months' each default, one count of identity theft, carrying a three year default penalty, nineteen confirmed charges of forgery, three months' default each..."

Quatre didn't bother concealing his grin. He turned to Duo, intending to make some comment on the proceedings, but was cut off when Duo grabbed him around the shoulders and squeezed him hard. "The little bastard's got what's coming to him!"

Quatre returned the embrace and clapped Duo on the back. "I hate to admit it, but I'm glad."

Duo laughed. "You're such an idiot. A _lucky_ idiot, but an idiot. If you ever take a gamble like that again I'll wring your neck."

"I'll keep that in mind." Quatre pulled away, still grinning like a loon, and turned his attention back to the screen. The camera was panning wildly across the room, apparently trying to catch every face on record while the punishment was meted out.

It was difficult to tell who looked more pleased, the justices or Council McInnes and his assistant. No one was smiling, exactly, since that would have been unseemly, but they looked pleased nonetheless.

Blue's council looked weary and resigned. He was a young man, and probably not very experienced, but not so young an inexperienced as to not have anticipated the outcome. He was patting Blue on the shoulder and murmuring something to him which the microphones did not pick up.

"If you have anything to say," Crothbauer said, returning to his seat, "now is the time."

Blue stood with help from his council and took a deep breath. "Your Honors, I accept your judgment." There was an approving mumble around the chamber. "But can I ask the court a favor?"

Crothbauer nodded at him benignly.

"Thanks, sir. I only ask...well, it's up to them, but I only ask that I be allowed to meet with Duo--I mean, Mr. Maxwell and those guys--I mean, with m-my accusers--and make amends in person? If it's not too much." Blue lowered his eyelashes humbly.

"Hell no," Duo said.

"Duo, they can't hear you," Quatre said, but at that moment a guard stepped into the room and marched toward their seats.

He was in livery, Quatre noticed, and was carrying a two-way radio to his mouth. At first glance, the only weapon he possessed was a sheathed ornamental sword at his hip. Upon a second look, there was a bulge at his armpit that could only be a concealed weapon. "I'm asking the witnesses now," he said into the radio.

"I--" Quatre started, but the guard cut him off.

"The defendant Ervy wishes to have an audience with you. Do you accept or decline?" asked the guard.

"I--"

"Frisk him, give him a thorough cavity search, and I'll think about it," Duo said. He was doing that poisonous grin thing again.

The guard turned toward Quatre. "Sir?"

Quatre vacillated for a moment, looking from the guard to Duo and back again. "Wufei isn't here, he can't make an informed decision."

"We might as well count him out."

"You're right. And I suppose it can't hurt...I agree."

Duo shot him a sidelong glance. "You sure?"

"Sure. He might as well go to prison with one less thing on his conscience, right?"

Duo looked at the floor, then at the ceiling. His lips moved silently, as if in prayer, then he sat quietly for a long time. Finally, he raised his head and nodded. "I agree too."

* * *

"Going for the twins look, are we?" Duo said, eyeing Quatre's clothing. 

Quatre, who had thrown on the first thing he laid his hands on after a brief and unrefreshing nap, looked down at himself and colored slightly. "Um...I can explain," he said, tugging at the collar of a somewhat newer and less dilapidated version of Duo's t-shirt.

To his relief, Duo chuckled. "It's okay, I know you've been swiping my 'Cats shirts for years. I always buy two when I go to their games, because I know you've got a streak of larceny in your soul." He tipped Quatre a wink. "Just stay out of my underwear drawer."

Quatre wrinkled his nose. Lets not discuss your underwear before dinner. I'm having a hard enough time working up an appetite.

Duo opened his mouth, probably to defend the honor of his boxer shorts, but was interrupted by a sharp rap at the door. "Oh shit, is it that time already?"

"I'm afraid so," Quatre said, glancing at his watch. He looked back at Duo, and together they opened the double doors.

Coe Ervy shuffled in, flanked by two female warders with red bands around their caps. Behind them was one of the usual seventh-floor guards, who acknowledged Duo and Quatre with a nod before taking up his station discreetly by the bathroom door.

Quatre was disappointed to see Blue was wearing his orange jumpsuit and wrist and ankle shackles, but he wasn't surprised. He had hoped, foolishly, perhaps, that they might have let him wear his civilian clothes one last time. The poor kid looked so dispirited and lost.

"Hands out, Mr. Ervy," one of the warders said, taking a magnetic lock from her belt. Ervy dutifully held his hands out, and the warder who had spoken released his wrist cuffs while the other one knelt to free his ankles. Once freed, Ervy stood rooted in place until the cuffs and chains were out of sight, then he let out a breath and rubbed his wrists.

"Thank you, ma'am."

"We'll come to get you in time for lights out," said the warder who had freed his ankles. "Enjoy your meal."

They both left, closing the door behind them.

Blue looked up, giving a shy glance to Duo, then to Quatre before looking down at the toes of his prison-issued slippers again. "Thanks for seeing me," he muttered.

"No problem. Have a seat."

Duo's voice was tight, stressed. Quatre could almost feel it coming off him in waves, a clammy fog of unease that made him feel vaguely nauseated. He tried to shake it off and forced a smile onto his face that probably looked every bit as plastic as Duo's. "I'm glad they let you come," he said once Blue was seated.

The kid gave him a melancholy smile. "That's nice of you to say." _Even if you are lying_, his eyes seemed to add before they dropped down to his toes again. There was a very awkward silence.

"I think we should have drinks," Duo said suddenly, nudging Quatre in the ribs and startling about ten years off his life. "Don't you think we should have drinks?"

Quatre was completely neutral on the subject, but he tried to manufacture some enthusiasm for Duo's sake. "Sure, that sounds good."

"I definitely think we should have drinks. Blue? D'you want a beer?"

Blue blinked, looking vaguely startled by the question. "I-I'm not sure I'm allowed to have..."

"Oh, I'm sure they'll let you have a beer. You're over eighteen now, aren't you? For real?"

Quatre winced at the jab. It probably turned his smile into a grimace, but he couldn't help it.

"Yeah. I'll be nineteen come June."

"Well, happy birthday in advance. Quatre, let's go order drinks."

For some reason, Duo felt it was necessary for both of them to go get the drinks. Duo took a grip on his arm was almost painful, Quatre he held his tongue as he was frogmarched across the lounge. He nearly tripped over a stray pile of books, but Duo had such a grip on him that he was in no danger of falling. He wondered briefly what the books were doing there since the cleaning service had come by just that morning.

Once they were out of Blue's immediate vicinity, though, Quatre shook himself loose. "What was that all about?"

Duo's face was contorted into a painful-looking scowl. "This is the fucking _stupidest_ thing I've ever agreed to," he hissed, "and that includes the time Hilde talked me into getting that little robot tattooed on my butt."

"I know it's awkward, but..." Quatre paused as something registered with him. "You have a tattoo?"

"Don't change the subject." Duo picked up the wall phone next to the dumbwaiter and jabbed the button for the kitchen with more force than was strictly necessary.

"Why a robot?" Quatre asked, glancing down at Duo's posterior.

"You're changing the subject again." Duo said. Then, into the phone: "Hello. Send up three Barefoot Ales with lime, would you? On second thought, make it six."

"Six?" Quatre echoed as Duo hung up the phone.

"I'm gonna need them."

Quatre put a hand on his arm. He noted that Duo was nearly quivering with tension and attempted to make his voice sound as soothing as possible. "Look, it's almost seven-thirty and Blue has to be back in his cell at nine. That's not so very long, is it?"

"Time's subjective. Spending an hour and a half getting a massage and spending an hour and a half getting a root canal are two different things, and this evening is turning out to be the latter."

"It's not that bad," Quatre said.

Duo gave him a black look. "You've obviously never had a root canal."

"Well, no," Quatre said. In truth he had never even had so much as a cavity, but he felt Duo's analogy was not all that accurate. "I've had my share of awkward social situations before, though. And that's really all this is, an awkward social situation."

Duo snorted and began to pace in front of the dumbwaiter.

"Duo, it'll be all right," Quatre said, catching him and squeezing both his arms. "An hour and a half after all we've been through isn't really so much, is it?"

Duo refused to answer.

"Besides, this isn't for us, this is for Blue. I know you hate him, but he's going to be locked up for up to fifteen years. Fifteen years! Do you realize how long that is?"

"We were fucking _Gundam pilots_ at fifteen," Duo muttered.

"Yes. And because of that, it could have easily been us sitting there instead of him. If you had a chance to make your peace with the people you'd harmed during the wars, wouldn't you want to take it?"

Duo stared at him with flat, cold eyes. Quatre didn't think he had ever seen Duo's face look so hard, and he wondered if he had pushed him too far. Duo had every reason to resent him for making him spend this evening with a condemned man, and he supposed their friendship was already strained by his decision to drop the conspiracy charge. But he still held his ground, knowing that this was somehow still right.

After what seemed an age, Duo took a breath and relaxed.

"All right, you made your point. I'll make nice for an hour and a half." He smiled. "You owe me big time, y'know?"

Quatre could have collapsed with relief. "Season tickets for the Hellcats. Box seats."

"Seriously?"

"Well...I can try."

"Good enough." Duo raised his head and shouted, "Hey, Blue, have you decided what you want to eat yet?"

* * *

Blue polished off a plate of meatloaf and potatoes with a healthy appetite and practically licked the plate clean before Duo and Quatre had even finished half of their own meals. "Wow, you guys weren't kidding about the food in this place," he said cheerfully. 

Duo and Quatre exchanged amused glances. Blue had seemed to come to life again after the beer had arrived, and by the time the food was ready, he was almost exuberant. "I'm glad you like it," Quatre said.

Blue burped discreetly and finished off the last swallow of beer. He was smiling for real now, a big, toothy grin that was almost charming. "I'll miss good food, but you know what?"

"What, Blue?" Duo said, eyeing him with thinly-veiled dislike.

"I don't think my time in prison will be totally wasted." He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "Can I tell you guys something?"

Duo shrugged, Quatre nodded, and Blue looked around conspiratorially. "I have a plan. I'm gonna make something of myself."

"That's...admirable, Blue," Quatre said. He had no doubt it was true, but from what he knew of prison culture, the only way that inmates improved was by learning to become better criminals.

"Yeah. I decided today--I'm a smart guy, and I'm young, so why can't I give myself a second chance, you know?"

"Well...sure," Quatre said.

"And nowadays they offer job training to guys in prison. The chaplain told me about it."

"Yeah, you'll have a stunning career in laundry services in no time," Duo muttered, but not so loudly that Blue could hear. Quatre resisted the urge to elbow him in the ribs. Instead, he kept a polite smile on his face and nodded for Blue to go on.

"I got people skills, and I know the streets, so why not put those things to good use, right?"

"Right..." Quatre said slowly. He had no idea where this was going.

"So I decided I'm going to be a social worker!" Blue said with a burst of enthusiasm. He looked at them brightly, smiling with far more wattage than he had shown in months. "What do you think?"

"I..." Quatre hesitated and turned to Duo, who looked as if he had just been force-fed a large bottle of snake oil. No help there, then. "I think that social work is a noble calling."

"Oh, me too! I think I'd be good at it. I can talk to disadvantaged young people like myself and tell them my story, get them turned around, help get them back on track. I could make them see that going legit is better than living by the seat of your pants, living in fear all the time," his voice cracked, but he swallowed and soldiered bravely on. "It would be a way to give something back, you know?"

"That's...that's very..." Quatre turned toward Duo again. "Isn't it, Duo?"

With visible effort, Duo hoisted up the corners of his mouth into something less like a grimace of disgust. "Yeah. Great," he said in a faint, sickly voice.

Blue beamed and practically bounced in his seat. "I'm glad you guys think so! Man, I can't believe I'm almost looking forward to tomorrow! Ha!" He picked up his beer bottle, saw that it was empty, and set it back down. "Just as well, I have to pee like mad. Excuse me and all that." He got up and headed toward the bathroom, throwing the guard a jaunty salute as he passed by.

"Is there any air freshener around here? The smell of bullshit is killing my appetite," said Duo, carefully setting his half-eaten steak aside.

"Could be worse, I guess," Quatre said, abandoning his own meal.

"How?"

"He could have gotten religion."

"I'd laugh, but I'm afraid I'd puke all over you." Duo leaned back in his chair, rubbing his forehead. "Can you believe that motherfucker?"

Quatre couldn't, exactly, but he liked to give the benefit of the doubt. "It's possible." He weathered a stern look from Duo and went on. "Okay, so maybe it isn't probable, but it's just possible that he might turn himself around. Maybe he's just saying that to get on our good side right now, but ten years is a long time."

"Quatre, the kid is a cockroach. In ten years, he's just going to be a bigger, meaner cockroach."

Quatre was about to open his mouth to utter a protest--a feeble one, but a protest all the same--when he was interrupted by a weak cry of pain and the sound of something heavy hitting the carpeted floor.

"Nobody move!" said a clear, authoritative voice.

Of course, they both moved. They put their hands in the air, for one thing. Then, carefully, they looked at the source of the commotion.

It was Blue, a Blue he had never seen before, crouched in a three-point stance with a gun trained on them. Behind him, the guard lay on the floor motionless; his cap had come off in the fall and his scalp was bloody. Blue was breathing hard, but there was no tremble in his grip, no hesitation or fear in his body language.

"What do you think you're doing?" Duo asked. He sounded annoyed.

"I may be going away, but I'm taking you with me, you son of a bitch!"

Several things happened almost all at once: The gun went off with a flat, undramatic clap; Duo went over backwards; and a figure blurred from the area of the book cases and knocked Blue down on his stomach.

"Duo!" Quatre cried out, skidding to his knees beside his downed friend.

Duo was grimacing horribly and holding his stomach. "God!"

"I know it hurts, hang in there," Quatre murmured, pulling Duo's head into his lap. He looked at Blue, and saw with a curious lack of surprise that it was Wufei who had materialized out of nowhere and was now holding him pinned with one arm behind his back.

"I'm going to inform you of your rights under the EarthSphere Unified Nation Penal Codes--" Wufei began, and was nearly thrown off Blue's back when the boy gave a tremendous heave.

"Get off me! Let me finish him off!"

"Shut up!" Wufei shouted, cuffing him across the back of the head. Someone started to pound on the locked doors.

"Christ this hurts," Duo growled through clenched teeth.

"It'll be okay," Quatre said, petting his head soothingly. "We'll get some ice on it..."

"I'm going to inform you of your rights under the EarthSphere Unified Nation Penal Codes--"

"Why aren't you dead!" Blue screamed hysterically. "I just fucking shot you--why aren't you dead?"

Duo, looking furious now as well as in a great deal of pain, struggle up on one elbow. "Because you shot me with a RUBBER FUCKING BULLET, you moron! That was a riot gun! Asshole," he added as an afterthought, and flopped back down into Quatre's lap. "Jesus, that smarts."

"I'm going to inform you of your rights under the EarthSphere Unified Nation Penal Codes--"

Just then, the guards who had been pounding frantically at the doors finally managed to bust them open and fresh chaos ensued. Shouts of surprise, fear, disbelief, many legs trampling and arms waving weapons, much shouting into radios as they called for backup and medical assistance...

Wufei, buffeted to one side in the middle of a fourth attempt at telling Blue his rights, scowled and stalked off to stand near Duo and Quatre. "To hell with this," he said, looking as disgruntled as Quatre had ever seen him before. "Is that job offer still open?"

* * *


	17. Conclusions

"God, I'm exhausted!" Hilde said as she flopped down on the tiny berth in the tiny cabin aboard the fishing trawler _Dirty Tom_. The boat was a far cry from the luxury cruiser Duo had originally had in mind, but he had warmed up to it considerably when he had seen the information she had dug up on sport fishing.

Marlin and tuna, easily ten times the mass of a man, locked in a life-or-death struggle against the strength and determination of their human antagonist. Fighting against the elements, knowing that disaster could strike at any moment and turn the tides. The wind in one's hair, the burning sun on one's skin, the spray of the ocean, and death, one way or another, just a monofilament away. Blood, guts, raw courage, and, in the end, glory. Like Howard would have said: _Whoa, dude_.

It was kind of a bummer that Hilde had caught the marlin rather than himself.

"D'you need some more of that smelly muscle-relaxing rub?" he asked, trying very hard not to sound petulant.

"No, babe, that full-body massage you gave me this morning was very relaxing," she said rolling to her side and giving him that special grin that indicated she had been completely and thoroughly satisfied in every possible way and could they do it again, please. It made Duo feel a tiny bit better.

"It's the magic fingers," he said, holding up his sunburned and callused hands.

"Among other things," she said, and did the grin again, only wider.

Duo cracked his knuckles. "Y'know, I'm not nearly tired yet. I could give you another massage..."

Hilde shook her head. "Sorry to be a buzzkill, babe, but today's Friday."

"So?"

"So, it's the end of the week. If Heero doesn't get his 'we're okay' e-mail by midnight, he'll assume we're in some kind of trouble, the tracking thingie he put the laptop will start broadcasting our position, and in about twelve hours we have one very pissed off and heavily armed nutjob and his friends swooping in on us."

"Shit, Yuy!" Duo said, banging fist against his forehead. It was true. After the trial was over and the proverbial smoke had cleared, Heero had gathered all the parties involved, and in the interest of security (against _what_, Duo wondered, since Blue's scrawny butt was getting pounded to the wall in a maximum security cell and would be for a twenty-to-life term), had outfitted each of their personal computers with a microwave transmitter and a nasty little piece of software that would send him a distress signal if the parties didn't check in with him on a regular basis.

Heero's fits of paranoia usually lasted around six months. It had only been five since the trial had ended. Duo didn't know whose sense of timing was worse.

Normally it was Hilde, bless her chatty little heart, who sent out an e-mail every week informing Heero (and the rest of their friends) that they were alive and well, but since she seemed more inclined to nap rather than gossip at the moment, Duo felt it was his duty. "All right, babe. Just this once, and just for you." He kissed the corner of her smile and sat down to type.

_Hey, guys!_

_Halfway through the Hemingway trip & all is well! Pamplona was awesome, but due to some candy-ass safety regulations, they're not doing encierro with real bulls anymore. Nowadays they just run tourists down with guys on scooters dressed up as bulls, or possibly dairy cows, it's hard to tell. See photos for scooter-bulls. _

_We did manage to get chased by some swans when we were visiting a vineyard, though. Safety tip: Geese get mighty uptight if you happen to accidentally wander into their nesting area when they've got gooselets. Or geeselings. Whatever baby geese are called. Territorial just doesn't cover it, man, and I got the biggest bruise on my...well, never mind. See photos for possessed birds._

_Paris was fucking gorgeous. We stayed over Bastille Day and had a riot. Just about started one, too. I tried to help the pyrotechnic with the fireworks displays--just to give it a little more lymphoma, you understand--and the local constabulary kind of took it the wrong way. The less said about that the better, I think. Hilde said it was a great show anyway. See photos for amateur explosions. Oh, and my mug shot. I think it came out well, considering._

_We got to the Keys about a week ago & we've been out on this fishing boat for the last three days. See photos for sunburns. It's really beautiful out here, nice and sunny and not too hot out on the water. The captain and crew have been awesome to us, the food is first-rate & the rum is even better. See photos for development of gut. _

_I've been doing lots of snorkeling and skin-diving, which is really amazing. There are about a gazillion species of fish and other weird critters around here. Spent waaaaay too much money on an underwater camera, but what the hell. See photos for cool fish. _

_Hilde caught a three m. marlin & is being disgusting. See photo for gloating._

_Will be back in a week or so bearing presents & tall tales for all. Hope everyone's well & unincarcerated. This means you, Heero!_

_Love & stuff,_

_Duo_

* * *

"I think I resent that," Heero said, scrolling past the photos Duo had attached at the end of his message.

"Well, he does have a point," Relena said, playing with a pair of spiderbots. Once she had gotten over her deep-seated loathing of things with too many legs, she had discovered that she was actually fond of the tiny robots. They were...cute.

"You've made pets out of them. What are you going to do, turn me in?"

"Of course not. I took a vow, if you remember: To love and to cherish, to aid and abet, by hook or by crook..."

Heero slid an arm around her waist and squeezed. "I knew there was a reason why I married a lawyer."

"And I knew there was a reason why I married a mad scientist." Relena set the spiderbots aside gently and opened up her briefcase.

Heero stared blankly at the sheaf of papers she offered. "What's this?"

"A patent application."

"For?"

"Not these, of course, since they are completely illegal," Relena said, letting one of the spiderbots crawl back into her palm. "As a whole, that is."

"You mean I should dismantle them?"

"Not all of them. Some of them should be kept intact for research purposes."

"The ones you've made your pets, you mean," Heero said, watching closely as she set one of the spiderbots on her coat button while she picked up another.

"And why shouldn't they be pets? If they were larger, of course, and maybe cuddlier. Although they're fine as they are," she hastened to reassure him, "I'm sure there could be a market for such things on colonies where domesticated pets are forbidden."

"Not many pets are forbidden these days on the colonies. In fact, there's been a bid on several colonies for equestrians. Mounted police can be much more efficient in the types of snatch-and-grab crimes committed on colonies than electric cars or beat cops."

Relena let a spiderbot crawl onto her nail. When it reached the edge of the polished surface, it went still and she put it back on her sweater. "Yes, which was why I just sent off a letter of recommendation from myself and my supervisor for Trowa to intern at the experimental stables being set up on L41X95."

Heero stared at his conniving, devious, and completely Byzantine mate with admiration bordering on awe. "You're determined to make us all go straight, aren't you?"

She looked up from tickling the spiderbot and grinned. "Not exactly straight, Heero, just lawful. Hm, I wonder if Hilde has anything new to share..."

* * *

It was growing dark when Trowa let himself into his studio apartment, but he didn't bother turning on the lights. The place was so small and underfurnished that he was in little danger of tripping over something, and besides, he needed the darkness in order to wind down a little. It had been a very trying day.

The first thing he did was go to the closet-sized kitchenette and pour himself a glass of milk. He hadn't had a chance to eat all day, which was just as well since he hadn't had much of an appetite. Four hours of oral examinations had seen to that. It was what he had been simultaneously striving for and dreading ever since coming back to the university, and though it wasn't as bad as it might have been, he still felt jittery and tense.

Suddenly ravenous, Trowa opened a tin of sardines and grabbed a bagel, applied one to the other, and began to wolf it down in huge, greasy bites. His mood rose along with his blood sugar, and he allowed himself to think the exam had been a little better than not-bad. It might, upon reflection, have gone rather well.

Still chewing, he left the tiny kitchen and settled himself down in one of the two chairs he possessed, which was one more than he really needed. He never brought anyone over. Even if he had had the time and energy for an active social life, he didn't have the inclination. This postcard-sized room, with its rickety workdesk, narrow bed, and dollhouse-sized kitchen had been his private place for the last five months, and he hadn't felt like sharing it with anyone.

Except now, maybe with _someone_.

He leaned back to close the blinds, then pulled his chair closer to the workdesk. His laptop, by far the newest and most high-tech thing in the entire apartment, came awake as he typed in his password and opened up his videocam. The number he wanted was already pre-programmed.

The connection was made and the sound came on before the video did. "This had better be Barton," said a disgruntled voice. The image on the video showed mostly vague shades of white, gold, and dull green while it connected, but Trowa recognized it all the same.

"That would be _Doctor_ Barton to you," he replied, stressing the title.

There was a pause while the pixellated image on the screen refined and configured itself into a set of surprised, familiar features. Quatre blinked at him in delighted amazement and said, "Are you serious?"

"It's not official yet, but I have a very good feeling about it," Trowa said, letting a smile take over.

"Holy...wow! I mean...when did this happen?" Quatre said excitedly.

"Just this afternoon. I finished my final oral exam about half an hour ago."

Quatre's had apparently just gotten in from work. His hair was grimy and matted from the hard hat and there was an oily smudge on his chin, but the look of sheer joy on his face made him look radiant. "Trowa, that's wonderful! When do you find out for sure?"

"Not till late September. I have six weeks to relax and get over the horror and trauma."

"It couldn't have been that bad," Quatre scoffed.

"One of the examiners had a horrible facial tic, another one had a stutter, and the third one was half deaf and kept asking me to shout a little louder. _You_ try to stay composed and professional under those conditions."

"Poor Trowa," Quatre said, laughing.

"Only my natural poise and charm saw me through the ordeal," Trowa said, milking it a little. It felt good to see Quatre laughing again. "And you? How are things at your end?"

"Fine. Wufei's been helping out on weekends and he seems to be enjoying himself, given that we have to practically pry him out of the exomech at the end of the day. Auda's been dethroned as the company darts champion, but I'll suppose he'll get over it. Everyone seems to get along with him, actually, and it's been nice to finally get back to work, but..." Quatre ran a hand through his sweaty hair, an exasperated gesture. "It would be nice if Rashid didn't keep giving me that _look_."

"What look?"

"This look," Quatre said, and pressed his lips together, lowered his brows, and tried to make his large blue eyes go dark and beady. It might have looked intimidating on Rashid, but on Quatre, the effect was laughable.

"Are you sure he's not just constipated?"

"Trowa, I'm serious! He keeps _hovering_. He's always checking on me, going through my toolbox, upbraiding me for the tiniest safety violations--I think he's even been going through my _mail_. I know he's just being protective, but I wish he'd just relax and let it go. I hate being treated like an incompetent child who can't take look out for himself."

Trowa's mood fell flat in an instant. It was a startling change, like being suddenly plunged into dark water after having been in the sunshine. He thought he should say something, or at least try to hold his smile, but at the moment all he could think of was the nasty, vindictive way he had argued with Quatre in the hospital room, when he had been unhinged with fear and bone-deep dread.

"Trowa?" Quatre's voice was a low murmur, barely able to compete against the sound of Trowa's own heartbeat. "I'm sorry. I thought we'd moved past that."

"I've been thinking," Trowa said, and then paused, wondering what had made him say that. Of course he had been thinking, but he suspected that what he had to say didn't have anything to do with the rigors of academia or of his professional future. It was something more immediate and yet more lasting, and he had been processing it for quite a long time...just not consciously. He waited, knowing that the words would come in their own time. After several minutes, during which Quatre was quiet, they did. "About you and me. Especially about me."

Quatre said nothing, merely nodded.

Trowa found he desperately, urgently needed Quatre to understand him, more than he had ever needed anyone to understand him before. He picked his words carefully, slowly. "I suppose I'm a bit of a loner by nature. I'm very careful about who I let get close to me, because when you let someone get close--close as you and I have become-- everything the other person feels or experiences becomes part of my feelings and experiences. Do you know what I mean?"

"Yes, I think so." But he didn't, not quite. Trowa could tell.

"It's a frightening thing, and a powerful thing, which is why I tend to keep my emotional distance. But I let you in because it felt good, and right, and perfectly natural," Trowa said, and he thought he saw Quatre start to smile, but he didn't want that right now, "But it's also not safe. When you're that close to someone and they are hurting, then you hurt too. Sometimes it hurts so badly that you want to give up caring just to make the pain go away."

There was no trace of a smile on Quatre's face now. "I understand. That's what happened to you last winter, isn't it? That's why you ran away."

"Yeah," Trowa said. "That's what happened."

Trowa couldn't look at Quatre's face. But he could look at his hands. They were grimy around the knuckles from work, one folded on top of the other. They had always looked a little too big for the rest of him, Quatre's hands, but they were as clever and nimble as anything once they were on his tools, or his piano keyboard, or on Trowa's own body...

No, that was an inappropriate thought. He shoved it away.

"I'm sorry I can't be safe for you, Trowa," Quatre said, and every molecule of oxygen in Trowa's tiny apartment seemed to vanish at that simple sentence. He tried to draw a breath and couldn't. There was nothing to breathe. He bowed his head as if inviting an axe to fall on his neck, but all Quatre said was, "That's love." Then he heard a sigh coming from the computer speakers as if Quatre was breathing for him, and some light and color began to creep back into the world. "Trowa, please don't beat yourself up over this."

"I don't see why I shouldn't," Trowa said. "You didn't mean to hurt me, I know that, but when you needed me most, I turned around and deliberately hurt you. What kind of monster does that?"

"A human one," said Quatre, simply.

Trowa lifted his head. Not enough to look Quatre in the eye, but enough to show he was listening.

"I've had people who loved me around me my entire life," Quatre said, "and I've done things...things I'm really not proud of. I've fought with my sisters, stolen from them, used emotional blackmail, turned them against each other to get my own way. I've lied to Rashid, I've defied him, challenged him, been disrespectful to him. My father..." Quatre trailed off and was silent for a moment before resuming his train of thought. "I've mistreated the ones I love sometimes. Sometimes they've mistreated me."

"Why?" Trowa asked.

There was another pause, this one so long that Trowa had to wonder if the connection had frozen. But then he saw Quatre's hands relax from their tight grip on one another, the fingers spread open, palms flashing before folding closed again. "Why? I could probably give you a thousand different answers to that. When I built Wing, for example, why didn't I kill you or Heero when I clearly had the advantage? Why didn't either of you try to kill me afterward, when I was vulnerable?"

Trowa couldn't answer that. It was either glaringly obvious or the reasoning was so labyrinthine that it would take days to explain; either way, he didn't feel up to vocalizing it. He simply nodded, hoping that Quatre understood. And hoping that he himself understood.

"Yeah, it doesn't make a lot of sense," Quatre said after a while."It's so much easier to forgive the ones you love than it is to forgive yourself. But you know what? It doesn't go on hurting forever. Little by little, day by day, you'll start to let it go, and eventually you'll come to terms with yourself. Believe me, it'll happen."

"I suppose you're speaking from experience," he said, raising his gaze just enough to address Quatre's fingernails. "I just can't see why you'd want to put up with what an insecure, moody bastard I can be."

"I've been a neurotic and impulsive bastard often enough. Seems to me we've reached some kind of karmic balance."

Quatre's tone was light, but the words weren't. He didn't say things like that without believing them. "You think we're okay together, then?"

"I'd've used a stronger word than 'okay', but yes. I think we're okay together."

Trowa's eyes followed Quatre's hand as it reached up to push a sweaty lock of hair away, and he found he could look Quatre in the eyes after all. He let them become mirrors, and what he saw in their reflection was a person who was absolved. Accepted. Loved.

He reached up and touched the screen, putting his fingers against the image of Quatre's. The cool polymer felt warm and yielding under his touch. Almost like the real thing. "I'd like to come home," he said.

Quatre pressed his own fingertips against his own screen, a gesture that was lost due to the camera angle but which Trowa swore he could feel caressing his skin anyway. "You never really left."

* * *

Wufei had never entered Preventers Headquarters out of uniform before. He had wondered if any of his colleagues would think he looked strange, but as he made his way through the maze of corridors and cubicles to Director Une's office, he felt that _they_ were the strange ones, not him. Of course he recognized the faces and could put names to most of them, but they seemed distant and insignificant now. There was a sort of clean-cut, bureaucratic sameness to them, worker bees in a giant, fluorescent-lit hive. He was suddenly very glad he had chosen to wear his street clothes rather than a suit to this interview.

The few that did acknowledge him only did so minimally with a nod or a quick wave of the hand. Even Une's secretary said nothing more than, "You're expected," before going back to his monitor. Wufei was already a nonentity, as far as they were concerned.

"Come in," the director said after his knock on the inner office door.

Wufei let himself in and closed the door behind him, making sure it latched firmly on the indifferent secretary.

Une stood with her back to him, gazing out the window at the rainy city. He could see his letter in her hand. "I received your resignation," she said, turning to face him. He noticed she was wearing her reading glasses.

Wufei tried to relax. He was quite used to butting heads with the Director, after all, and as long as he kept his cool he usually got his way. Or at least he got her to see his point, which was usually the same thing. She wasn't unreasonable, just...eccentric.

"I accept it."

The wind was abruptly knocked out of Wufei's mental sails. He realized he had been bracing himself for a fight, and this calm acknowledgment was disappointing. He didn't know what to say.

"I've seen it coming for a long time," she said, moving to her desk and taking her seat. "Maybe even longer than you have. In fact, I'm surprised you've held out this long."

Wufei pulled up a chair, unasked. This was interesting information. "I hope my performance hasn't been unsatisfactory," he said.

"Of course it hasn't. I've expected only the highest from you, and that's what I've consistently received. I've always been very proud of you, Wufei."

It was the first time she had used his given name in a professional setting. He supposed it was a way of letting him know that he was no longer one of them, no longer a Preventer. The thought failed to provoke any negative emotions. "Thank you, Lady."

The use of her former name didn't seem to faze her at all. She merely gave him a serene smile and said, "I'll be sad to see you go, but I could hardly expect you to keep up your level of dedication forever. It's better now to let you leave now of your own accord than to stay on and become a burnt-out drone who is hardly fit for routine surveillance missions."

And that, in a single sentence, was why Wufei had handed in his resignation."I'm glad you understand."

From a large leather courier bag that she carried instead of a briefcase, she produced a thick padded envelope filled with what looked to be a short novels' worth of documents. "This is your severance package, with information on retirement benefits, health insurance, copies of your commendations, and several letters of reference." Her smile grew fractionally wider. "Though I don't suppose you will need most of that since you seemed to have secured other employment already."

"Yes, I have," Wufei said, trying no to sound too surprised. Inside, though, he was wondering how the hell she had found out and was making an appointment with Heero to sweep his apartment and his belongings for bugs.

She stood up and strolled casually to the window again, apparently enjoying the gloomy view. "I appreciate that you offered to stay on until your current investigations are over, but you may leave now without any penalty if you wish. I've waived your six-week exit period."

Once he walked out that door he would be walking back into the civilian world, and in spite of the way that appealed to him, something kept him in his seat. Silence spun out as he tried to phrase the question that had been nagging him ever since Morrison had phoned him the night before...

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

Well, he might as well just say it. The worst she could do was to tell him to mind his own business. "The Yates investigation. I heard that you took Morrison off the case, but as far as I know, that was never resolved. Did you find the shooter?"

"No, we didn't. In fact, I think we're going to drop that particular investigation." She took a pink plastic compact from her suit pocket, the kind of thing that usually held miniature mirrors and compressed powder and tiny makeup applicators, and she held it in her palm as if she was contemplating taking the shine off her nose as she spoke. She regarded it thoughtfully, then opened it.

"But it was a multi-jurisdictional murder, wasn't it? Normally it wouldn't have been deadfiled for a year, and it's only been five months. Why are you cutting the investigation short?" Wufei asked.

She merely gazed at her compact, then Wufei did too. From where he sat, he had a fairly good view of it and couldn't help but notice that where the mirror should have been, there was instead a tiny videoscreen, and by leaning forward a little and straining his eyes, he could just make out what was on it. It seemed to be a floor-eye view of a flag...no, not just a flag, he saw as the view panned down, but a room. A very big room. Stone-flagged floors, wooden benches in rows, speakers in the ceiling...

Director Une closed the compact and flicked a bit of dust off of one of the framed citations on the wall. It was for superior marksmanship, Wufei noticed.

He tried to read the expression in her eyes, but an errant beam of late afternoon sunlight filtered through the clouds and opaqued the lenses of her glasses. "Because the world doesn't need to know." She settled the compact back into her pocket and turned away from him. "Goodbye, Wufei, and good luck."

Then it all clicked. The Administration Center. Une's protracted leave of absence. The sudden dropping of the case. Wufei smiled, stood up, and left the room without another word.

Even without him, the future was in good hands.

* * *

The shadows grow long.  
The sunlight fades; silence falls.  
And the moon rises. 


End file.
